


The Prince's Consort

by famoustruth



Series: The Prince's Consort [1]
Category: Original Work, The Prince's Consort
Genre: Action, Adventure, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Cringe, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fantasy, Fighting, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Universe, Political Intrigue, Romance, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:20:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 90,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28332261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/famoustruth/pseuds/famoustruth
Summary: When an act of greed and cruelty brings the kingdom of Rien to ruins, two princes will cross paths and change each other's life forever. One, who loses everything he's held dear and the other, who never had anything worth treasuring from the start. Can they set aside their differences to achieve their goals and reclaim what is rightfully theirs?
Relationships: Renton Kyro Ashai/Tristan Crane
Series: The Prince's Consort [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2074857
Comments: 32
Kudos: 17





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shobon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shobon/gifts).



> I'm so so sorry you had to wait this long for such a shitty story. Please don't stop bringing baked goods to my house.
> 
> Written between 5/2/20 and 6/6/20. Yes it took me that long to finally get around to editing it. A sequel (focusing on a different pair) has already been written and is waiting to be edited. Yikes.

Kyro’s lungs burned from exertion, a mixture of sweat and blood sliding down his back. Each cry and wail of anguish he heard echoing in the night was akin to being stabbed, although the pain was incomparable to what he felt in his heart. The crucial organ in charge of pumping blood throughout his body felt as if a viper had nestled around it, constricting tighter and tighter, all the while injecting it with poisonous venom. He laid a shaky hand on the stone pillar supporting him, leaving a bloody handprint behind.

He suffered from several wounds that had begun to drain his stamina - the level of adrenaline in his system finally tanking - but the majority of blood staining him was not his own. Kyro had snuck back into the palace after the night’s excursion as usual, only to be met with a horrifying sight that would forever haunt his worst nightmares. His bedroom was in shambles from the aftermath of fighting, broken furniture strewn about. Kyro locked eyes with Arlon, his personal attendant, whose face was contorted by fear and pain as he mouthed a single word: run. Arlon’s body slumped to the floor as a foreign soldier yanked the sword out from his chest, blood flowing endlessly from the wound.

A guttural scream ripped from his chest as Kyro lunged forward to grab the saber - his own - that had been kicked off to the side. His aura shot out toward the soldier closest to him, quickly enveloping the man in a suffocating cocoon. The soldier didn’t even have a moment to blink before he was immobilized and then eviscerated. Kyro sliced through the rest of the attackers in a similar manner, blind with rage. Two more soldiers appeared in the doorway, whom he quickly dispatched with brutal swings of his sword. After determining the number of reinforcements drawn to the commotion was too high, Kyro abandoned his blade by Arlon’s side with one last mournful look before escaping into the palace halls.

He ran around desperately trying to locate his family, forced to take detours and ducking into spare rooms when he sensed the auras of approaching guards. Unable to forge a clear path to the other royal suites, Kyro stopped to rest, leaning heavily against one of the thick columns in the deserted throne room. When not in use the throne room was dimly lit by several large braziers crackling with flickering flames. On clear nights such as that one moonlight streamed in through the far wall, which was almost completely comprised of floor to ceiling windows, illuminating the vast chamber with an eerie glow. Kyro’s mind raced with questions as he tried to comprehend the madness around him. Who were the attackers? What did they want? And  _ why? _ His head snapped to the side, drawn to the sound of multiple footfalls and the clinking of metal.

“You’re sure that was the last of them?” a deep voice asked as a small entourage swept into the echoing chamber. A tall man in an elegant suit of dark grey armor, most likely somewhere in his forties, spoke to the figure beside him, eyes sizing up the room with disdain. Golden hair reflected the firelight that highlighted the strong cut of his jaw, contributing to his imposing appearance. His facial features were equally fierce, bearing a sharp nose and piercing eyes. Along with two heavily armed guards who stood behind them, a fifth hung back with their hood drawn upon their head, obscuring their face. Much to Kyro’s surprise, the foreigners spoke nearly the same common language as his own people. The accent, however, was quite jarring.

“Yes, your Highness, we’ve confirmed six bodies in total. They’ve been collected in the king’s quarters, waiting to be disposed of. Their crown prince seemed to take a few of our men down in the struggle, but other than that, there were no issues.” Bowing deeply, the aid gave his report. The words hurled Kyro’s heart into an endless abyss, his mind free falling in shock and horror as he barely managed to remain still in his hiding place. At the end of the descent he lay shattered in realization at the extent of his loss.

“Good, now that that’s taken care of, go find Herron and tell him to begin the next phase.” The commanding man flicked his hand as the aid bowed again and hurried off. The group slowly meandered through the throne room, getting closer and closer to where Kyro stood when one of the guards suddenly shouted and moved into a defensive position.

“Your Highness, someone’s hiding behind that pillar!”

Kyro’s instincts flared to life, causing his heart to beat erratically and setting his blood on fire. Although he had been suppressing his aura to an imperceptible level, in the state he was in, he had probably carelessly let himself be seen or heard. The two guards approached him quickly; he couldn’t even begin to weigh his options before rough hands seized him, dragging his body out into the open. One of the guards shoved him toward the man and pushed him to his knees, arms restrained on either side.

He felt everyone’s stares boring into his body, judging his sorry state: the plain servant’s clothes he wore were torn and bloodied, shallow wounds still leaking thin trails of blood. His long, dark umber hair was miraculously still tied back but flying in all directions while his face was wracked by a storm of emotions. In the half light, he looked wild and savage. Lifting his head, Kyro glared at the man with enough hatred to last a thousand generations, amber eyes burning like two small suns. The armored man looked down at him with a sneer.

“Kill him,” he declared without a second thought, starting to turn and walk away. Kyro swallowed hard as he was passed over into the hold of just one of the guards, watching as the other removed a glistening longsword from its sheath. His muscles tensed as he began to summon his aura, preparing to fight back, when the hooded person suddenly spoke.

“Wait.” The voice was soft and youthful, but still commanding enough to freeze the guard with his sword poised by Kyro’s neck. The tall man turned to the smaller figure who now stood beside him.

“What are you doing, Tristan?” he asked in an impatient tone.

The youth slowly pulled back his hood and made eye contact with Kyro, who could still feel the cold metal kissing the nape of his neck. Kyro could tell he was most likely a couple years younger than himself, probably not even twenty. Tristan wore light and gilded armor that seemed to be primarily decorative under an equally luxurious cloak. His face was small and framed by a halo of pale gold hair that gleamed so brilliantly, under the moonlight it almost seemed white. Much like Kyro’s own hair, it was long but loosely braided and trailed over his shoulder.

Tristan’s face had soft and delicate features that made him seem fragile, reminiscent of a ceramic doll, and likewise also very beautiful. However, the thing that Kyro focused on was his eyes: they were the muted color of the sky at dawn, a swirling blend of lavender with a blush of pink.  _ Aristocratic brat _ , Kyro thought with rancor before freezing at Tristan’s next words.

“Uncle, I want this one.”

The older man, whom Kyro could now tell did bear a strong physical resemblance with the youth, sighed in exasperation and closed his eyes, as if petitioning to some higher power for patience to deal with his nephew.

“Tristan, don’t make things difficult. We’re not here to befriend the locals.”

“But Uncle, what’s more fun than bringing back spoils of war? Please?” Tristan pleaded with his uncle in a sweet voice. Darius Crane didn’t think highly of his nephew - an awkward and eccentric recluse, perhaps - but he never thought he was this much of a fool either. Sighing, he conceded to his nephew’s wishes, knowing in his heart that it mattered naught in the end.

“Fine, but if he causes even the slightest bit of trouble, he will be disposed of immediately.”

By this point more guards had filtered into the throne room and Kyro was once again restrained by two of them. Watching Tristan’s face out of the corner of his eye, he caught the fleeting shadow of a stony expression before it was quickly wiped away by one of pure angelic radiance twisted by arrogance and conceit. Walking over, Tristan stood in front of Kyro and crossed his arms over his chest, once more raking his eyes up and down the bedraggled prince.

“State your occupation,” Tristan said in a firm but considering tone.

“...Palace guard,” Kyro ground out.

“Best be thinking of a new calling after letting your royal family get slaughtered like pigs,” one of the soldiers restraining him snorted.

Kyro immediately saw red, the muscles jumping in his neck as he bit down on his tongue, seconds away from turning on the man with his bare hands.

“ _ If _ I happened to have been on duty tonight your pathetic lot wouldn’t have lasted a minute against me,” he snarled, rearing back slightly to glare directly at the man, blood rushing loudly in his ears.

“Hold your tongue in my presence, soldier,” Tristan commanded coolly, narrowing his eyes in disgust at the man who had spoken out of turn. “And you as well.” He leaned down and cupped Kyro’s chin in one hand, forcing his attention away from the offending guard. Pale, slender fingers contrasted starkly against sun-kissed skin. Kyro held Tristan’s gaze with a steely expression, refusing to flinch from the unwanted contact.

“Enjoy the trip to your new home, for it’ll be quite a long one,” he mused softly. “And don’t even think about running away, as I’m sure you value your life.” The cold threat clashed with his smile, one that was warm enough to chase away the bone-deep chill of winter. After having his cheek patted lightly in a condescending manner, Kyro was hauled to his feet and dragged out of the throne room by the guards.

  
Unable to properly process the millions of thoughts that tore at each other in his head, only one managed to bubble through the chaos to the surface:  _ I am never going to another brothel for as long as I live. _


	2. Chapter 2

Tristan’s words turned out to be very true, as it took nearly two weeks to leave his home behind and arrive in his captor’s land. However, that gave him plenty of time to finally get his thoughts in order. Kyro was led through the intricate tunnels hidden within the great mountain range that his kingdom was carved into. The true depth and knowledge of the cavern network was a national secret, held by the royal family and their closest advisors. This told him one very important thing: someone had betrayed not only his family, but their entire kingdom.

The tunnels they had been following exited faraway from the mountain stronghold so that when he finally got a lungful of fresh air, Kyro could see his entire kingdom off in the distance. It was actually his first time witnessing it all at once, for he had never ventured out that far before. The kingdom of Rien, while small enough to really only consist of the singular city nestled within the heart of a mountain range, was still a beautiful sight to behold.

The royal family’s residence was an architectural masterpiece integrated into the face of the mountain, the natural stone material showcasing deep veins of variegated color. Countless balconies led to open air hallways through exquisitely carved archways. Two waterfalls the span of several people flowed down on either side from the peak of the mountains, allowing the kingdom to flourish. However, outside from the lush, man-made grassy terraces that supported them agriculturally, the mountains themselves were rife with precious gems, metals, and the most important commodity of all: soulstone.

All humans were born with a unique aura and for those who were exceptionally fortunate, a special gift along with it. These individuals were revered as aura users. The mysterious properties of soulstones helped aura users to strengthen their innate skills. As such, it was the most profitable export Rien could have. Unfortunately, due to the treacherous mountain range cutting them off from the rest of the world, very few merchants from the outside ever made it through. Kyro had no doubt that his kingdom was targeted for its natural resources.

The path in front of him was now wide enough for horses to traverse in single file and Kyro was roughly shunted into a narrow carriage full of boxes and barrels. The winding trail, which was more like a precarious ledge with a fatal drop, hugged the side of the mountain and snaked in between smaller peaks unendingly. Kyro was thankful that he was no longer on a death march, as his physical condition continued to deteriorate, but now he truly had to face the reality before him. He slowly waded through the blood drenched swamp of his most recent memories, piecing together the horrifying truth bit by bit.

Six bodies, he had heard them say. Kyro’s throat constricted painfully as he counted each member of the royal family. His father and mother, the beloved rulers of Rien. His mischievous twin brothers, their sixteenth birthday just around the corner. His shy but sweet baby sister. And him - the crown prince. All brutally murdered in cold blood, handed over on a silver platter by someone they knew and had mistakenly trusted with their lives. Kyro’s heart twisted in endless agony as his vision spiraled into a black pit. For the first time in his twenty-one years of living, he was completely and utterly alone.

***

Traversing through the mountains was a bumpy and uncomfortable ride, and Kyro fell in and out of consciousness over the next few days. Now and then when the caravan would break for a short amount of time to allow the soldiers to stretch or relieve themselves, someone would throw a hunk of bread or a waterskin into his carriage. The anger and bitterness in the depths of his soul grew with each passing day as he recounted the painful turn of events. That night - if he hadn’t snuck out for one of his regular visits to the upper city level’s brothels with his friends, would he have died along with the rest of his family? Or would he have been able to protect them? Equal parts guilt and sorrow continued to torment him day and night.

His lacerated heart mourned for those he lost, including Arlon, his closest servant who was like a brother to him. It wasn’t really necessary, but when Kyro would sneak out they would switch places for the night. Kyro would don the unassuming clothes of a servant and head out under the cover of darkness while Arlon got the night off to relax in the crown prince’s suite. It really was just for fun and made his trips all the more exciting. Kyro couldn’t help but berate himself for his hedonistic and immature behavior. He cried silently knowing he would never in his lifetime be able to pay Arlon back for the literal exchange of their lives.

After days of only seeing rising and falling peaks of brown earth, Kyro finally felt the caravan heading down a gradual descent. He could tell the soldiers around him were getting more and more lively as their exit from the mountains drew near. Kyro itched to ask the guards that passed by on horses every so often for any information, but his pride and hatred kept him resolutely mute. The ground eventually gave way to perpetual flatness, and Kyro was confronted with an unforgettable sight.

Pulling aside a bit of the cargo carriage’s covering, Kyro saw an endless expanse of...nothing. It was the same blue sky overhead with the vernal sun beating down, but as far as the eye could see was an empty horizon. Kyro could barely make out the hint of perhaps some far off hills, but aside from the mountain range behind them, there was nothing but open plains in every direction. He couldn’t stop staring, almost willing for something, anything to break the monotony of the flatness. When nothing changed after the first few hours turned into days, Kyro felt an uncomfortable knot twist within his core. It was too open, too exposed, and quite frankly, too unsettling.

It wasn’t until they had passed into the second week of travel that the scenery finally began to change. Empty plains made way into acres of tilled farmland and the odd farmhouse here and there. Eventually, small villages cropped up where the caravan could stop to resupply. Kyro listened intently to any conversation he could catch wind of and learned that the kingdom he vowed vengeance upon was called Tieria. The name sounded vaguely familiar to what he might have once read in a map or heard mentioned by his tutors, but other than that he drew a blank.

By this point the horrifying events that played over and over in his head might as well have been decades instead of weeks ago. Kyro’s soul was travel-worn and exhausted, on top of the fracturing it had suffered. Two weeks of isolation and withdrawal into the deepest part of his mind would hang like a perpetual shadow over him. So when the imposing capital city of Lorelai - the seat of power for the royal family who presided over the country - finally came into view, it was with an apathetic and detached gaze that Kyro looked upon it.

Lorelai was a large and fortified city, built in tiered rings around a magnificent and opulent castle. The primary building material seemed to be white stone that gleamed under the sunlight, gilded accents glinting here and there. The caravan eventually reached the city walls that towered above them, waiting patiently as the heavyset gates were slowly hefted open. As they made their way through the city, Kyro had to admit, it was beautiful and unlike anything he had seen before. Among the white buildings were verdant trees and gardens appealing to the eye as well as bustling and colorful marketplaces.

People shuffled around, going about their daily business as if their ruler hadn’t just nearly exterminated an entire bloodline and forcefully seized another kingdom. Of course Kyro wasn’t as misguided as to hate the people of Tieria for their leader’s sins - nothing short of personally dismembering Tristan and his arrogant uncle would give him the slightest bit of satisfaction. However, if he had to cut through the whole kingdom to reach them, then so be it.

While the carts and carriages made their way through the city, Kyro carefully and discreetly reached out with his aura to probe the common people. His ability to sense and manipulate auras allowed him to examine the Tierians, curiously gauging the average citizen’s strength. However, he did not need to act with such caution as his findings were simply shocking: despite having an enormous population, Kyro gleaned that only a small percentage of the residents were aura users. Paired with his earlier observations that the aura users among the soldiers manning the caravan were equally sparse, he could only surmise that the attack on Rien was specifically orchestrated to combat this situation. Tieria was not producing many aura users which ultimately meant that as time went on, they would become more and more vulnerable.

***

Although several horse-drawn carts had departed from the group as they went, the bulk of the caravan finally made it to their destination: the towering castle in the center of Lorelai. The castle boasted a main structure that was several levels high and branched off into numerous wings, connected to each other and ramparts leading out into the city by bridges and suspended walkways. Spires rose up to form sleek towers from which one could most likely see all the way to the city limits. Through the countless lattice windows Kyro could see figures busy at work, many of whom were now coming outside to help unload the carriages.

Kyro exited the cart that was his mobile home for the past few weeks and stretched his sore limbs. His wounds had thankfully closed up without much trouble but he was still far from peak physical condition. Most everyone ignored the extremely out of place foreigner except for one older man who quickly approached him from the direction of the castle. The man looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties and wore the ridiculous multi-layered clothing the Tierians were so fond of. His silver hair was cropped short and neatly arranged; a strong nose and serious but not unkind eyes featured on his slightly wrinkled face.

“You are?” the man asked Kyro, standing ramrod straight with his arms behind his back. Kyro struggled to find his voice for a bit before responding, as this was the first conversation he was having with another human in weeks.

“Tristan’s-” he began before feeling a sharp pain on his forehead. With remarkable speed, the older man had somehow managed to flick him. The man tut-tutted in disapproval.

“You shall refer to him as His Highness, the Crown Prince, or my Prince. Let that be lesson number one, and know that I don’t give remedial classes.” The man looked Kyro up and down and continued, “I have received word of your arrival and for whatever reason the Crown Prince wishes to have you around, we must prepare you appropriately as the royal entourage will be returning to the capital in a few days. Follow me.”

For a man his age, he turned sprightly on his heel and started to head toward the castle without looking back to confirm Kyro was following. Unable to do much else, Kyro jogged to catch up with the man’s retreating figure. Once they entered the castle, the two walked through countless hallways and passages and took twists and turns that he instantly lost track of.

“My name is Cytus Morewind, the Crown Prince’s head attendant and now your supervisor for the time being. You may call me Cytus. I am in charge of aiding the Crown Prince in his personal affairs and ensuring his household is in immaculate order. The Crown Prince is a very private person, and I cannot really fathom why he desires your presence but as long as you perform your duties admirably, I’m sure you’ll find him to be an agreeable master.” Cytus rambled on as they soon entered a wing of the castle teeming with activity.

“These are the servants quarters but only just a temporary pit stop for you,” Cytus said as he led Kyro to what seemed to be a communal dormitory. Immediately all the lively conversations surrounding him stopped as all eyes turned to the two of them. Faces strained to look at Kyro as quiet whispers broke out among the other servants, stunned by the sudden appearance of a tall and strange foreigner.

“Ah yes, your name?” Cytus finally remembered to ask.

“Kyro,” he replied after a beat.

“Everyone, this is Kyro. He will be serving the Crown Prince so do help him learn his way around if you see him looking lost, yes?” Cytus clapped his hands efficiently to disperse the gawking onlookers. Kyro had never felt more like a fish out of water, as he stood ragged and worn in front of countless strange eyes. Cytus wasted no time in pushing him toward the men’s washroom and instructed him perfunctorily.

“Clean up as best you can, you’re a right mess. There will be some clothes laid out for you momentarily so change into them and when you’re done ask around for Piri. She’ll bring you back to me. And don’t take too long.” The man strode away as the last of his words barely left his lips, clearly moving on to more important tasks.

Kyro stood still for a moment in the tiled room, several rows of large shelves with built-in compartments stocked with dry cloth and other hygiene essentials in front of him while metal spigots and taps lined the far walls at regular intervals. Thankfully, the showers were empty but Kyro wondered for how long. It wasn’t that he was shy - public bathing was common practice in Rien - he just needed some time to decompress lest he accidentally snap someone’s neck.

He hurriedly stripped and tossed his dirtied clothes into what he assumed was the wastebasket with a bit of reluctance, for though they were simply servants’ garb, he didn’t have much left from his past life. His only personal effects that remained were the engraved metal clasp he used to hold back his unruly hair and the soulstone pendant that hung around his neck from a leather cord. The stone was cut in the shape of a flat disc, rounded edges with a small hole in the middle. It was cream in color with a few glittering specks scattered around that emitted a faint glow, resembling the full moon that hung in the sky. Kyro could still remember the day his parents had given it to him, how proud they were when he was identified as an aura user. Since then the necklace almost never left his body, and now was no different.

Kyro undid his hair and set the metal clip on the ground, but left the pendant around his neck. Turning the handle protruding from the wall, a rush of hot water flowed from the overhead nozzle and down his head. He instantly felt better as the stream washed away the layers of dirt and blood that had accumulated on his skin, scrubbing carefully around his wounds with a rough washcloth lathered in soap. The journey was not kind to him mentally or physically, and he had lost a lot of weight. He went through the motions of showering in an almost meditative state, as if the cleansing of his body was effectively washing away the horrors staining his heart.

After a while of rubbing his skin nearly raw, Kyro finally turned off the water and walked back over to the shelves with his mind a little clearer. True to Cytus’s words, someone had deposited a stack of clothing and a pair of boots in one of the compartments. Drying himself off, Kyro looked at the clothes with disdain. The climate of Rien was arid and temperate year round so the fashion leaned towards light fabric and exposed skin. Tops were generally sleeveless and cut short while pants were loose and allowed for the most range of movement. As for in the capital of Tieria, it seemed the cold season was only just beginning to let up. Kyro hadn’t much noticed the chill due to his numb state but thinking about it then, he shivered slightly.

Tierian fashion, even for early spring, was more layers of cloth than Kyro had ever worn on his body before. He felt suffocated putting on the tight fitting long sleeve shirt and trousers, both stark white in color. The incredulous part was there were still two layers to go - a dove gray vest and a heavy white cloak embellished with gold trimming. Kyro refused to wear the gaudy curtain on his shoulders and angrily bunched it into a ball. At least the boots were somewhat manageable despite going up to his shins: supple brown leather with a polished finish. After clipping his hair back and patting the necklace hidden away under his clothes for reassurance, Kyro almost felt ready to face people again. Although he was wearing a ridiculous amount of fabric, he felt completely naked under the scrutiny of his foreign captors. At least being presentable again reinflated his sense of self-confidence and pride so Kyro strode out into the common area and called out before he lost his nerve.

“Where’s Piri?”

Once again all conversation came to a halt and everyone turned to stare at him. Kyro tried to maintain a placid and disinterested expression while he slowly looked around the room. Suddenly, a young girl of about sixteen or seventeen jumped up from where she was sitting by the small fireplace.

“H-here!” she stammered and rushed up to Kyro. She was a small and thin girl whose slight figure was dwarfed by his tall and muscular build. Piri had a round face with large green eyes, her fair skin was peppered with freckles and flushed from nervous excitement. Her auburn hair was neatly tied up in a bun at the nape of her neck, looking like the tail of a rabbit.

“I-I’ll take you to see Cytus now,” she said while motioning for him to head out the door. Kyro nodded wordlessly and exited, Piri following behind while looking back at her friends who were making a mixed bag of expressions.

Once out in the hall Piri looked around awkwardly as the two walked in silence. She glanced up at Kyro and turned away quickly.

“The Crown Prince certainly has a good eye, you look lovely-I mean, handsome? Your clothes...fit nicely…” she squeaked. Piri wanted to launch herself out of the nearest window but they were sadly only on the first floor. Of course she was used to admiring the pure, almost artisanal beauty their crown prince possessed, but no teenage girl wouldn’t be affected by the roguish good looks and feral charm Kyro exuded. Her face was completely red with embarrassment as she peeked one eye at Kyro to see his reaction, worried she might have angered him. To her surprise, he wore a calm smile on his face.

“Thank you,” he said politely. Piri returned a half-hearted smile and focused straight in front of her. Although Kyro was smiling, she felt the temperature around her drop.

The last thing Kyro wanted to do was ingratiate himself even more to his detainers, but he wouldn’t be able to enact his revenge if they were keeping a close eye on him. They walked through a few hallways in silence, their shoes echoing off the stones.

“Your name is Kyro, right?”

“Yes.”

More silence.

“They said you...came from a faraway land the Crown Prince was visiting…”

Kyro almost stopped dead in his tracks, stifling a maniacal laugh.  _ Is that what they’re telling people...that they were just  _ visiting _? _ he wondered incredulously. The thought made him burn with anger, causing all the muscles in his body to tighten.

“Is that so,” he said through clenched teeth.

Piri assumed she had poked some sore spot when he replied so tersely but much to her relief, they were finally standing in front of Cytus’s office. Knocking on the door firmly, she announced their arrival.

“Come in,” Cytus said from the other side of the wooden door.

Piri waved goodbye quickly as she bowed her head and ran off in the direction they came from. Thankful to only have to deal with one person at a time, Kyro pushed open the door. Cytus sat behind a large desk that was covered in neat stacks of paper, in the process of writing a long report. He looked up over the spectacles balanced on his nose and made an approving nod.

“Much better,” he said while finishing whatever notes he was writing.

Kyro simply scowled at the man and crumpled up the cloak in his hands even further, annoyed that all people had done since he had arrived was judge him like a slab of meat hanging in a butcher’s shop. After a few moments Cytus removed his glasses and placed them on top of his desk before standing up.

“Now that you’re all cleaned up, I’ll walk you through a brief tour of the castle before showing you to your room.”

Kyro sighed inwardly, knowing that more endless white hallways that looked identical to the ten that came before it were ahead of him. However, as much as he begrudged his current situation, he took every opportunity to learn about the Tierian people as well as the layout and inner workings of the castle.

Cytus showed him around the majority of the first floor grounds, pointing out the kitchens, ballrooms, library, throne room, and other places of interest as well as identifying any important individuals they encountered. The current regent of Tieria, Darius Crane, ruled the country with the input of the court councillors and Tristan. Kyro was most surprised to learn that Tristan’s uncle was merely the acting regent of Tieria until he became of age. Apparently, the previous king and queen had passed away in an accident when Tristan was very young. Kyro’s heart bled anew as he thought about the loss of his own family.

It was explained that for as long as the crown prince deemed, Kyro would attend Tristan in his daily life and follow whatever orders were given. The rest of the crown prince’s household, such as Cytus and Piri, were in charge of the actual housekeeping and domestic work. Kyro needed only to heed whatever special requests Tristan had.

“Your position is really not as bad as you might think,” Cytus continued. “It may be a bit difficult to get used to at first but many would kill to be in your place.”

Kyro let out a scoff and then coughed to cover it up, earning a stiff look from Cytus.

“Indeed, this is not the hard labor camp I was envisioning so I suppose I shouldn’t complain.”

It was Cytus’s turn to scoff as he sniffed and said dryly, “Well there will definitely be some hard labor involved but I’m sure you’ll manage.”

Kyro puzzled over just what kind of odd chores Tristan had in store for him but Cytus had them sweeping back into the castle from the outdoor grounds they had been touring. It was getting late in the day and Kyro’s hunger peaked, accentuated by a loud growl. He looked away in embarrassment but Cytus took no notice.

“Until the Crown Prince returns you may receive your meals directly from the kitchen whenever you wish, they are aware of who you are. For now I’ll have something sent up once I take you to your room.”

Kyro nodded, grateful and honestly very surprised at the reception he was getting. Where were the days locked underground performing manual labor? Or running through the woods while Tristan and his friends hunted him for sport? Perhaps they were all coming and it was only a matter of time.

They finally began climbing several sets of stairwells to reach the third floor, where most of the residential quarters began. The third floor was comprised of four wings divided into suites with one of them, again to Kyro’s surprise, belonging to him. The suite opened up into a small sitting room and expanded into a bedroom, small study, and private bathroom. The furniture was sumptuous and finely crafted, the common color scheme being white, gold, and silver with accents of light blue and green. The cooler color palette of Tieria was a far cry from the warm brown and red tones of his home. The back of the suite led to an open-air courtyard that made him even more desperately miss the wide balconies and terraces of his mountain home. The only mysterious thing was a locked door on the far wall of the bedroom.

“You may wander about the castle freely, for any places that are off limits will be appropriately guarded, but for now you must remain within the castle grounds. It shouldn’t be too hard to stay out of trouble. And of course I would harbor no thoughts of running away,” Cytus warned.

Kyro flashed him a wry smile.

“Of course, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said obediently.  _ Not until the streets run red with the blood of your rulers and anyone who ever plotted against my kingdom _ , he thought.

Unaware of Kyro’s silent vow for vengeance, Cytus nodded in satisfaction when a knock was heard at the door.

“That must be Piri with your meal,” he noted and called her in.

Piri set down a covered tray on the small table in the sitting room, blushing again when she made eye contact with Kyro. He thanked her, this time a bit more genuinely as he was starving, and she gave a nervous smile in return before running off again. Cytus’s last instructions were to spend the next few days acquainting himself with the castle and the staff members, as Kyro would just be a nuisance if he remained helpless. Kyro barely heard him depart before descending upon the food.

Under the cover were a few silver plates, each piled with different assortments of food. One had a variety of bread, another smoked or cured meats and cheeses, and the last a mixture of fresh vegetables and fruits. Although it wasn’t the hearty, protein heavy dinner Kyro was used to, he devoured it all down to the last crumb. He didn’t even care if the food was poisoned or compromised in any way, all he wanted to do was climb into bed and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. And that’s just what he did, as once his stomach was fully sated he dragged his increasingly heavy body to the large four-poster bed and collapsed into it. Kyro barely managed to kick off his boots before climbing under the soft sheets, not even bothering to look for any sleeping clothes. The moment his head touched the pillow, his mind went blank.


	3. Chapter 3

Kyro didn’t stir until late into mid-morning the following day. He sat up groggily, not quite remembering where he was, until his memories came rushing back. The overly lavish room, the alien clothes now heavily wrinkled upon his body. None of it was right. Kyro pressed the base of his palms into his eyes and let out a sigh the weight of a mountain. He forced himself out of bed and slowly walked over to a beautifully carved wooden wardrobe. Unfortunately, he was only met with disappointment after opening it up to find more of the same style clothes.  _ These people seriously need to loosen up a bit _ , he thought disdainfully before pulling out a new blouse and trousers. The shirt was made of a light cream silken material that fluttered delicately, probably the closest match to similar fabrics back home so he felt drawn to it. Kyro had to make do with rolling up the sleeves half-way and leaving the top buttons undone to feel less stuffy. Sadly, the pants remained tight and snug. Today’s pair was still white but with a gaudy line of golden embroidery running down the side. At least he had the liberty to ignore wearing multiple layers.

After washing up in the bathroom, Kyro tugged on his boots and attempted to navigate back to where he thought the kitchens were. Only half a dozen wrong turns later did he end up at his destination. Cytus apparently was not a liar as everyone did seem to know who he was for the most part. Perhaps that was also why it seemed like everyone steered clear of him - all except for one familiar face.

“Good morning, Kyro” Piri said in a shy but cheerful voice from behind a large wooden counter. Her face was dusted with flour while her arms up to her elbows may as well have been made of the white powder. She was enthusiastically kneading dough along with several other servants her age.

“...Piri,” Kyro said after a while. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to call any morning ‘good’ ever again.

“If you’re looking for food, there are some leftovers from breakfast over there.” She pointed with her chin to several covered platters set off to the side. “Oh, and these are my friends, Jerell, Elseth, and Yeva.” Piri elbowed the closest one to her and shot them all looks. They awkwardly greeted Kyro but quickly returned their attention back to kneading.

“Thank you,” Kyro said as he walked over to get some food. He observed the large kitchen while eating a couple egg and ham sandwiches. Although there were plenty of people working on a variety of tasks, it wasn’t packed or frantic. He assumed that since Tristan and Darius were away, there was less activity in the castle, which meant then was his best and only chance to explore unsupervised. However, as much as he wanted to wander on his own, he decided it would be much more productive to have a guide.

“Piri, if you have some free time later today, I’d appreciate it if you would show me around,” Kyro said once he had satisfied his hunger. Piri was stunned silent for a moment, first at the sheer amount of words he spoke and second at their meaning.

“O-of course, I would be happy to!” Piri smiled. “I just have to help prepare a few more batches of dough then I can meet you.” She was very excited that Kyro had asked for her help. Since they were both serving under the crown prince, it was likely they would have to interact frequently. Piri was worried Kyro would never warm up to her, or even worse, outright dislike her.

“Then I’ll be waiting for you in the library.” Kyro returned a restrained smile and nodded at the group before leaving the kitchen. The young girl seemed to be quite trusting and eager to please, the perfect candidate to extract information from. For now, Kyro decided to attempt to gain any knowledge from the royal library, as much as he shied away from academic pursuits. Growing up, Kyro was always a man of action, rather than words. He excelled at athletics from a young age and enjoyed discussing fighting techniques with the small and close-knit Rien army. However, that didn’t mean he was ignorant to the value of written information, no matter how tedious and brain-numbing studying was.

After getting detoured through a series of connected gardens, Kyro finally reached the castle’s library. The large chamber was a sight to behold, easily rivalling any academic institution. Countless rows of gleaming wooden shelves were packed tightly with multi-colored volumes while even the walls were cut into more shelving. The decorative motif of white stone pillars marbled with smoky veins was rampant inside the cavernous room along with the favored golden trim. Plush, wine colored carpets covered the floor, muting footsteps and any other noise that could potentially disturb someone’s focus.

Overwhelmed by the sheer number of books, Kyro settled for walking in a few circles. His frustration reached a peak when he realized that although some sections were meticulously labelled, the writing system of Tieria did not completely match his own. He could spot a common word once or twice while flipping through a random book, but he was effectively illiterate. Kyro never hated reading and books more than he did in that moment. He angrily shoved the volume he was holding in his hand back into place before trudging deeper into the library.

Towards the back in a secluded corner was a simple desk covered in stacks of books. Loose paper with illegible words stuck out everywhere but Kyro’s attention was drawn to what was framed on the wall. It was a map nearly as long as his full arm span and featured unfamiliar lands. Tieria was obviously identifiable as it was in the center and a detailed drawing of Lorelai was featured prominently. His heart tightened painfully and he momentarily forgot to breathe as his eyes were drawn to a large mountain range to the southeast. Kyro lifted a shaking hand to trace the painted peaks, hovering over an empty spot surrounded by mountains. Although he couldn’t actually read the letters, he knew in his heart what it said: Rien. The sheer scale of the map made him feel incomparably small, having been contained within a literal bubble all his life. And yet his sense of loss was more significant than the treasures of all the other kingdoms combined.

Kyro suddenly found it hard to breathe, a massive lump forming in his throat and constricting his airway. Hot tears leaked from the corners of his eyes as he fought to draw breath, shaking in pain. He thought about ripping the map to shreds, tearing it apart piece by piece as he would the limbs of Darius. The fingers and toes would be removed first, one at a time, extracted slowly so that he would feel unimaginable pain. Then entire limbs would go next until the vile man was reduced to a pitiful lump of flesh, as inhuman looking and warped as his soul surely was. Kyro’s hand trembled in the air before the map for a moment, as if he really was about to tear it down, when he heard the familiar high pitch of Piri’s voice.

“Kyro?”

Clenching his fist and letting it fall to his side, he slowly regained control of his pulse and regulated his breathing. Kyro quickly wiped away the wet streaks on his cheeks and cleared his throat.

“There you are, I was worried you had gotten lost.”

As Kyro turned around Piri appeared by the corner of the bookshelves. She had changed out of her flour coated clothes into a long-sleeved light blue dress with silver trimming. Her fiery hair was half up and half down, a smaller bun secured at the back of her head.

“Is there anything you’d like me to show you in the library?”

“No,” Kyro coughed slightly, his voice a little strained. “There is nothing of interest here. Let’s take a walk around the castle grounds.” He strode past Piri and exited the library quickly, as if putting physical distance between him and the site of his near outburst would help him maintain control. Piri had to run to catch up, concerned about his sudden change in mood and bleary eyes. She followed him in silence for a bit as Kyro led them outside surprisingly quickly. Only then did he take a conspicuously deep breath and slowed his pace.

“Tell me about this land. The kingdom, its people, neighboring territories,” he asked, quickly adding afterward, “Please.” Piri nodded as they slowly walked in no particular direction.

According to what she was told as a child, Tieria was settled by refugees from old northern kingdoms generations ago. Back then, the western side of the continent was in a constant state of war and disputes over land, resources, and everything in between. Running as far south as they could on their meager provisions, the first Tierians discovered with delight how fertile the lands were. They founded a small village that would eventually grow to one day become Lorelai. The fledgling group of people were led by several prominent bloodlines: Pierce, Spyren, Everett, Gria, Blackwood, and Crane. The latter three rose above the rest, with the Cranes assuming the most power by becoming the revered royal family. The former three were suppressed, reduced to lesser nobles.

Similarly, the rest of the open lands eventually settled down into other kingdoms of varying strength and size. Some fostered amiable relationships while others could not forget past indiscretions. Tieria had several partners in trade but the dominant power to the northwest, Versal, was a growing threat to Tieria’s peace.

“Oh but there’s nothing to fear, General Blackwood is currently on a campaign with a large division of the army to enforce our borders and push back the Versans.” Piri spoke with the over-confident pride of an innocent and naive youth, eyes large and shining in faith.

“This...Blackwood, is he that strong?” Kyro asked.

“Frey Blackwood is  _ the  _ youngest general in Tierian history, he’s only twenty-six years old! He’s a genius strategist and unparalleled in fighting, plus he’s a one of a kind aura user. I’ve never seen it in person, of course, but I heard he can create a perfect copy of himself. Or maybe I have and just never realized it...” Piri sighed wistfully. “And to top it all off, General Blackwood is extremely close with the Crown Prince. They practically grew up together and he was even the Crown Prince’s personal guard before being promoted to a general.”

Kyro was impressed with the general’s aura ability; if it was true, he possessed a rare and powerful skill. However, Kyro was arrogant enough to believe that he could match Frey in any other category.

“I see,” he said before smirking, “Sounds like someone has a crush.”

Piri’s face flushed pink all the way to her ears as she waved her hands frantically in front of her.

“N-no I don’t! I just think he’s smart and strong and-and has the bluest eyes…” Piri stuttered, groaning in embarrassment when she realized what she had said. She covered her eyes in shame as she continued quietly, “It doesn’t matter anyways, he has hundreds of adoring fans and I am not even close to being worthy of his station.” Piri grumbled in defeat. At this point they had walked out to the large lake at the edge of the castle grounds. The surface of the lake was still and peaceful, small ripples appearing intermittently as fish or fallen leaves would disturb the placidity. Kyro thought for a moment before he spoke.

“Who cares? If two people love and cherish each other, nothing else should matter. To hell what other people think. I wouldn’t give up so quickly.”

Piri nodded slowly as if she was absorbing some deep wisdom. To Kyro, however, it was just his honest and unfiltered opinion. He truly believed that frivolous or outside factors such as status or one’s bloodline shouldn’t dictate who one can or cannot love, despite how odd that might sound coming from a prince. But while he would be the first to admit that he was no master of emotions or romance, having only enjoyed flings and meaningless skinship in the past, he would never reveal the fact that deep down he longed to have an intimate connection with another person that went to the depth of their souls - the kind of rare and once in a lifetime bond he admired between his father and mother. And Kyro definitely wouldn’t let anything get in the way once he had found it.

“I wish I had even half your confidence,” Piri sighed.

“It’s just common sense.” Kyro shrugged. “I think it would feel worse to not have tried at all, than to have tried and failed.” They stood in silence for a bit longer, lost in the tranquil scene of the gently swirling lake before he spoke again. “There is one more place I would like to visit today. Could you bring me to the stables?”

Piri was a bit surprised by Kyro’s request but nodded before leading them back toward the palace.

The stables were as needlessly large and well-kept as the rest of the castle. The hybrid wood and stone building was bright and well ventilated to the point where Kyro wondered if there were even any horses being kept there. He got his answer when he heard several whinnies toward the back of the stables.

“Piri, we don’t use horses where I come from, it’s too difficult for them to walk around. I’ve honestly never even touched one before. Can I ride one?” Kyro slowly walked up to one of the large holding pens where a massive pure black stallion stood, wanting to reach out and touch its long velvety face. His confession shocked Piri and made her infinitely more curious about his homeland.

“Really? That’s surprising, how do you travel far distances?”

“Well, that’s the thing, we don’t really have all that far to travel. My father told me he once tried to ride a mountain lion when he was younger, though...it didn’t end well.” Kyro shook his head. Piri’s eyes widened in disbelief trying to imagine someone riding such a ferocious beast.

“That sounds impossible, but I can assure you riding horses is a lot more manageable. In fact, my friend Jerall - you saw him in the kitchens earlier today - is an exceptional rider! I’ll ask him to teach you tomorrow.”

At Piri’s words, Kyro broke out into a wide grin. Of course he remembered his ultimate goal, but why couldn’t he have some fun along the way? Nothing sounded more enticing and distracting than the thrill of feeling the wind beat against his face atop a speeding horse. And who knew, he might have to one day make a quick escape and riding a horse was surely faster than running.

“Thank you, Piri, really. I appreciate it.”

“I-it’s nothing, don’t mention it.” She smiled back, clapping her hands together and continuing, “And once the Crown Prince returns I’m sure he would love to go riding with you, so this is the perfect time for you to learn.”

Kyro’s face fell when Piri brought up Tristan, but he quickly turned away to hide it. After realizing how late it had gotten, Piri excused herself and left Kyro alone in the stables at his request. He sighed, moving between several emotions as he stared into the eyes of the black beast. Disgruntled, frustrated, angry, anxious. He didn’t need to be reminded that sooner than later he would have to face the source of his soul-consuming hatred. Kyro tried to have a mental conversation with the horse but found it to be rather one sided.

_ Why is everyone treating me so nicely? _

_ Is it all a ruse to have me lower my guard, to ruin me even further when I least expect it? _

_ Can I even trust Piri? What about Cytus? _

Kyro shook his head, hoping the answers would fall into his lap. He was already tired even thinking of passing the next couple of days in disquiet, waiting every second for the other shoe to drop. He sighed again, finally building up the courage to slowly pat the horse’s nose. It whickered and snorted, shying away from his touch.

“I wish you could take me home,” he said aloud in a soft voice, breaking the silence of the deserted stables.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day Kyro woke to find a hand-written note folded on the table in the sitting room, weighed down by a warm plate of food. His injured heart warmed up from Piri’s kindness, but his mood soured again when he tried to decipher the letter. Kyro could make out only a few words in the short note, but he guessed she was trying to tell him that Jerall would meet him by the stables after lunch time. Or at least he hoped so, because that was what he was going with. Kyro finished the food quickly and dressed for the day - a similarly cut blouse the color of a robin’s egg and a new but equally uncomfortable pair of tan pants - heading out to spend the rest of the morning scoping out the castle barracks.

Housed toward the front end of the castle so as to be ready at a moment’s notice in case of an attack, the barracks occupied a large corner of the ground floor and was home to the soldiers currently not deployed as well as the higher ranking members of the military who needed to be in constant communication with the regent. Separate gatehouses were stationed by each point of entry for those on guard duty. Kyro now knew a large part of the standing army was off in the northwest for who knew how long, so it was important for him to understand the strength of who was left behind.

The barracks sported a large courtyard, presumably for small group training, as the ground was worn down and several racks of practice weapons were off to the side. A few soldiers were actively sparring while others lounged about chatting. All eyes turned to him as Kyro approached.

“Hello,” he said in a friendly voice. Kyro could tell instantly that none of the soldiers present were aura users, for their auras were weak and undeveloped.

“Well look who it is, the Prince’s new toy,” one of the men jeered, causing the others to snicker. “What are you doing here, aren’t you scared you’ll get your fancy clothes dirty?”

Kyro raised an eyebrow, wondering what their deal was. It was a shame he didn’t have any long range weapons on him, or he would have already started a brawl. Getting straight to the fighting was much faster than exchanging verbal blows, but he was itching to let off some steam either way. Now that he was slowly getting his energy back, all of his building frustration and rage needed to go somewhere.

“I just wanted to see the great Tierian army for myself, perhaps even find a sparring partner, but I’m afraid I must have wandered into the castle nursery instead.” He assumed an indifferent posture, pretending to examine his nails. Kyro’s provocation caused an instantaneous reaction among all the men present, their full attention now on him.

“You looking for a fight, boy?” the man who had spoken up earlier said. “Then let’s fight.” He spat and stood up from the wooden table he had been situated at. The man was perhaps in his early thirties and was physically impressive. He wasn’t taller than Kyro but the soldier was thick and muscular. Kyro knew it would hurt immensely to get hit straight on by his fists. But this was exactly what he wanted, to test out his body and get it back into his peak condition. Kyro smiled in response and stepped into the center of the courtyard to meet the man.

“The name’s Garrvin and you’re about to get one hell of a beating, kid. Lucky for me the Prince isn’t back yet to protect you.”

The other soldiers formed a large circle around them, cheering Garrvin on and jeering at Kyro.

“Kyro. And lucky for you, the Prince isn’t here to witness what an embarrassment his army is.”

Garrvin growled and lunged at Kyro, whipping his right arm in a punch. Kyro quickly stepped back and ducked, pushing up from the ground quickly to rocket his fist into Garrvin’s stomach. Although the older man wasn’t wearing any armor, it still felt like Kyro’s fist was hitting a tree trunk. He grunted as he disengaged, jumping back again and shaking out his fist. Garrvin staggered slightly from the impact but wasn’t too hurt.

“That all you got, boy?” he called out, laughing confidently. Kyro bared his teeth in response in a vicious grin and they both dashed forward to exchange blows. Garrvin’s aura was strong but straightforward like the man’s personality so Kyro could read its flow easily. With his superior agility Kyro avoided the heavy blows coming his way but couldn’t do enough damage to knock Garrvin down. Their movements were fast and unpredictable to onlookers as no one was familiar with Kyro’s fighting style. He blocked, feinted, and sometimes even flipped around Garrvin who was putting out a steady stream of punches and kicks.

Suddenly, Kyro felt a twinge of pain from his side where he had suffered the heaviest wound the night Rien was attacked and his foot slipped a little, throwing off his balance. Garrvin instantly kicked out his leg from under him and forced Kyro to the ground. He punched toward Kyro’s face but his fist only met with the hard packed dirt as Kyro rolled, grabbing Garrvin by the lapels to flip their positions. The crowd’s cheering was at a fever pitch as the two grappled on the ground in an all out brawl, punches and kicks going wild.

“What the  _ hell  _ is going on,” a voice snapped, stopping all the action in the courtyard. Cytus strode forward angrily, a vein pulsing on his forehead. Kyro and Garrvin pushed each other away and climbed to their feet, breathing heavily.

“Hello Cytus,” Kyro said in between breaths but still rather cheerfully, wiping away a streak of blood from his split lip. His clothes were disheveled and covered in dirt, bits of grass sticking out of his hair. Garrvin wasn’t in much better condition either, as Kyro had gotten a solid elbow into his eye.

“I said to stay  _ out  _ of trouble, not go looking for it,” Cytus said sharply while grabbing the back of Kyro’s collar and dragging him away. “As for you,” he turned sharply to Garrvin, “The captain can expect a recommendation letter for disciplinary action from me and no, I do  _ not  _ care who started it.”

Kyro grinned and waved at the soldiers cheekily, satisfied to have released some of his pent-up aggression. As they walked away Cytus gave him a smack in the back of the head.

“What were you thinking?” Cytus chided. “You’re lucky you didn’t get seriously injured.”

“One, I wasn’t really thinking and two, it’s not like you actually care about my safety anyway,” Kyro muttered. His adrenaline high was starting to wear off but it was still a fun albeit painful little distraction to clear his head.

“My concern for you directly corresponds to the Crown Prince returning to find you unharmed and in one piece, not a blood stain on the ground.” Cytus shook his head, realizing that this foreigner Tristan had sent back from Rien was nothing more than a hooligan.

“I’m  _ so _ terribly sorry, Cytus, the  _ last  _ thing I’d ever want to do is get you in trouble,” Kyro said overdramatically in the most pretentious and sarcastic tone he could muster. “Now if you will excuse me, I’m going to go break my neck riding a horse for the first time.” Kyro dashed off toward the stables before Cytus could stop him, the aggrieved man’s shouts fading off in the distance.

By the time Kyro stopped running, he had reached the stables. He bent over and supported himself with his hands on his knees, catching his breath. After several deep breaths and stretching out all his sore muscles, Kyro’s mood was the best it had been in weeks. It was almost as if he could just nearly skim the surface of who he used to be. He patted off the smudges of dirt on his clothes as best he could and entered the stables. This time, there was another person present. A young stableboy was finishing doling out fresh hay to the horses when he saw Kyro approach. Frightened by Kyro’s sudden and unkempt appearance, he ran off in a hurry.  _ Well, that was a bit unnecessary _ , he thought. Shaking his head, Kyro once again walked up to the large black horse who was making short work of its lunch.

“Are you ready, Blackie?” he murmured while leaning on his folded arms atop the stall’s door, watching the horse eat. “We’re going on an adventure today.”

“What are you doing?” a cold voice said. “And what happened to you?” A tall male with sandy hair looked him up and down, brown eyes narrowing in unmasked repulsion. Kyro stood up straight and held out a hand.

" You must be Jerall, right? I’m Kyro. Thank you for coming to teach me.” Kyro gave the teenager a friendly smile; he knew large beasts could be dangerous if improperly handled so he didn’t want to give the boy any reason to possibly cause an accident involving his bones and a horse’s hooves.

“I’m not doing it for you,” Jerall said stiffly, ignoring Kyro’s out-stretched hand. Kyro wondered if people were supposed to be nice to him on even days and mean on odd ones when Piri’s voice called out.

“Jerall, I brought the spare reins!” She bounded toward the two, a long and thin coil of leather in her arms. “Kyro! What happened to your clothes, you’re a mess!” Piri exclaimed.

“Nothing serious, just had a little fun at the barracks,” he said, waving a hand dismissively.

“Oh, well do be careful. And I see you’ve met Jerall, excellent! I need to go help Cytus but I can’t wait to hear about how it goes later, good luck!” Piri handed the reins to Jerall, waved enthusiastically to the both of them, then sped off. Kyro waved back and glanced at Jerall. He was still standing quite stoically but with the hint of a smile was on his face.  _ Ah, I see _ , Kyro thought with a mischievous grin. He suppressed his desire to tease Jerall as he was determined to learn how to ride and did not want to offend his teacher anymore than he somehow already had.

“So...how do we do this?” Kyro said.

“As it is your first time riding, you’ll start off by getting comfortable sitting atop the horse and trying out some basic commands. I will be holding onto the reins as well for the entire time, so don’t think about doing anything crazy.” Jerall practically glared at him while speaking.

_ Why does everyone think I’m going to suddenly start a fire or something _ ? Kyro thought bitterly.

“Sounds good to me, as long as I get to ride this black one.” Kyro tried to pat the black horse’s nose but it stepped backward just out of his reach.

“You want to ride Percival?” Jerall stared incredulously, raising an eyebrow. He thought for a moment then agreed, “Ok, fine.” Jerall opened Percival’s stall and gave the horse a few calming pats. Percival snorted and stomped his hooves on the ground in response. The youth had brought with him a large leather saddle, throwing it over Percival’s body and securing it tightly. The reins Piri had brought were attached to a bridle that went around the horse’s head. Once properly saddled, Percival shook his head and neighed indignantly. All the while Kyro watched with excitement, eager to jump on the horse’s back. Jerall motioned for Kyro to follow him as he led Percival out of the stables. There was a paddock beside the stables that they walked into, the gate securely locked behind them once they were inside.

Jerall explained how to properly mount a horse and held on tightly to the reins, nodding at Kyro to make an attempt. Kyro stood on the left side of Percival and grabbed onto the reins with one hand. He gripped the saddle firmly with the other, positioned his foot just inside the stirrup, pushed himself off the ground, and swung his free leg over in a smooth motion. He adjusted his sitting position to get more comfortable and let out a triumphant yell.

" Hah! That wasn’t so har-” Kyro’s words were cut off as Percival bucked wildly. Not having had secured his grip on the reins, he lost his balance and tumbled to the ground. Kyro groaned, sprawled flat on his back for the second time today. He looked up at Jerall who merely shrugged with a slightly amused expression, as if he knew that would happen. With a determined expression, Kyro got up and shook off the fall, loosening up his limbs.

“Ok, I wasn’t prepared that time. Alright Blackie, this time, for sure,” he grunted and mounted Percival again, taking care to clutch the reins and lower his body closer to hug the horse’s neck. Once again, after several seconds of being tossed about, Kyro’s grip slipped and he was thrown off. This happened four more times and by that point Jerall had long since walked away to lean against the fence, looking bored and convinced that Percival wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Kyro rolled onto his back after landing face first, letting out an exasperated breath of air. He was even dirtier than before and sore all over.

“What is your problem?” He petitioned the horse with a vexed expression, never having dealt with such a willful animal before. Percival whinnied as if he was mocking Kyro, stomping the ground dangerously close to his body. Kyro quickly rolled away and got up, scared for the safety of his limbs. Jerall walked back over and took Percival’s reins in his hands.

“Clearly you’re not making any progress so let’s call it a day,” Jerall said. Kyro nodded and sighed in frustration as they returned to the stables. Once Percival was back in his stall and unsaddled, Jerall turned to leave.

“Uh, thanks for today. Do you think we could try again sometime?” Kyro asked.

“If that’s what you want.” Jerall walked away without another word, as if he really couldn’t stand to spend another second in Kyro’s presence. Making sure the prickly teen was long out of earshot, Kyro turned to face Percival again.

“Blackie, why do you think Jerall hates me so much? It’s because he likes Piri and is intimidated by my irresistible charms, right?” Percival blew a puff of air into his face with a snort. “Ah well, this didn’t go as planned, but tomorrow is another day. I’ll see you later, Blackie.” Kyro managed to pet the stallion once before retracting his fingers quickly as Percival chomped at him. He waved goodbye to the horse and headed back to the castle, trying to dust himself off as best he could before Cytus saw him and ordered him to sleep in the stables.

After a soothing hot shower and a change of clothes, Kyro downed a large portion of stew in the kitchens before returning to his room for the evening. He had stopped by the library to pick up a few map scrolls and spread one out on his bed to examine. Before he got too deep in focus, Kyro was surprised to sense a flurry of movement in the suite adjacent to his. It had been empty since he arrived and seeing as how it was the middle of the night, he figured some important guest must have made a late night appearance. Kyro counted the auras of three people before his heart stopped beating. He was very sensitive to other people’s auras and would never fail to match one to its rightful owner. He identified two of the individuals as Cytus and Piri, but the third made his blood run cold. Tristan was back.

Kyro remained immobile on his bed for what felt like an eternity, barely even blinking. His mind flooded with memories he had been trying so desperately to drown under his subconsciousness and he broke out into a cold sweat. He didn’t know how long he sat lost in his thoughts, heart racing at an uneven pace, but after a while later the activity next door died down. Cytus and Piri had left only to enter his suite and knock on his bedroom door. Kyro’s breathing peaked in its irregularity, causing him to grip the bedsheets in his clammy palms and force himself to calm down. His vision began to swim and he felt like he was going to pass out.

“Kyro? Are you awake?” Cytus called out. Kyro’s eyes shot to the door as he could feel the two standing just outside.

“...Yes,” he managed to say before slowly getting up and going to the door. When he opened the door, Piri was alarmed at the dark shadows in his eyes that weren’t present earlier that day. Kyro’s body was tense all over, almost to the point of something breaking.

“Very good, the Crown Prince will see you now.” Cytus led Kyro to Tristan’s suite as Piri took her leave. She gave Kyro a small, nervous smile and bowed her head before disappearing down the hall. The previously unlit sconces beside the ornate door were now glowing with a warm light.

“He’s in his bedchamber but be sure to knock first. Good night, Kyro,” Cytus nodded his head and left, the swishing of his robes the only sound that could be heard. Kyro swallowed and pushed open the door to a sitting room not unlike his own. However, it was larger and more furnished, with several paintings hanging from the walls. Kyro stepped in rigidly, closing the door behind him. He felt like he was walking to his own execution although there was a higher chance of him suffocating before he even reached his destination. He forced himself to take a step, and then another, until he was standing in front of a heavy wooden door. Kyro’s pulse quickened as he knocked.

“Come in.”

  
_ What do I do? What can I do? What  _ should  _ I do? _ A million images flashed in his mind until his thoughts were drenched in red. Kyro opened the door and stepped inside.


	5. Chapter 5

The spacious bedroom was dimly lit, a softly crackling fire burning in a large and ornate fireplace. The shadows danced erratically along the wall, cutting across the figure of Tristan standing by his bed. He was somehow smaller than Kyro remembered, probably an illusion from the armor he had been wearing before. Tristan was fiddling with the buttons on one of his cuffs when he looked up, limpid eyes glowing in the firelight. There were some dark circles under them and his skin was exceptionally pallid, but neither were able to detract from his beauty.

“Oh, thank you for coming. I’m sorry it’s so late, I-” Tristan began to speak quietly but was never able to finish his sentence. Kyro, who had been standing motionless suddenly became a blur. He propelled himself forward with alarming speed and lunged at Tristan, pinning him against one of the bedposts with both hands on his throat. Kyro’s eyes were unfocused as he squeezed - just a little more force and Tristan’s neck would snap like a twig. Tristan barely had time to comprehend what had happened before he felt the sharp pain of his head hitting wood and the oppression of being unable to draw breath. His fingers pried at Kyro’s hands, eyes welling up with tears, turning them into two dewy pearls.

“P...p-please…” Tristan’s eyes locked with Kyro’s and he shuddered at what he saw. Kyro’s eyes were like bottomless pits of madness, digging into Tristan like poisonous barbs. He had never felt such genuine fear before, or seen so much hatred and pain in another person’s eyes.

“Give me  _ one _ good reason why I should spare your life,” Kyro seethed through clenched teeth. The temptation to finish Tristan off then and there was growing, but he knew that if he killed him now there would be no way to get to Darius. In fact, Kyro probably would not be leaving the room alive either, if he was discovered to have murdered the crown prince.

“I…will…f-free…your...p-people,” Tristan whispered. Kyro lessened his stranglehold the slightest bit, eyes narrowing. He took a step closer, pressing in towards Tristan and towering over him menacingly.

“What’s to stop you from shouting for your guards the moment I let go?”

“If…you really think that,” he struggled to take a few shallow breaths before continuing, “Then just…kill me now.” Tristan closed his eyes as delicate, crystalline tears rolled down his cheeks. Kyro growled from his throat and squeezed once more, causing Tristan to cry out pitifully. Then he was released, falling onto his bed like a ragdoll. He gasped as he painfully but thankfully was able to breathe again, weakly pushing himself up into a sitting position. Angry red marks bloomed along his pale neck like rose petals. There was a knock on the door.

“Uh…Your Highness? Is everything okay in there?” a passing guard on duty asked nervously. Tristan fought to steady his shaky and breathless voice before answering.

“Yes, everything is fine.” Tristan glanced at Kyro out of the corner of his eye. Kyro was once again as still as a statue, heated glare focused on Tristan’s face. When the steps of the guard had faded away, Tristan let out a small breath and stood up. Kyro immediately moved in front of him, blocking his path.

“Speak. If you don’t convince me not to kill you right now, neither of us will live to see the morning. Why did you attack Rien? Why did you bring me here? Why did you murder...the royal family?” Kyro’s voice broke toward the end as his throat tightened, fighting back tears of his own.

“Please, you have to believe me, none of this was my doing. Tieria is controlled by my uncle, Darius. He became the regent when my parents died as I was too young to rule. Our kingdom…is not blessed with many aura users despite our population size. But my uncle is addicted to power and wants to raise an army of aura users to protect the kingdom. When he heard about the stones that are mined from your mountains…” Tristan looked away uncomfortably. “He got in contact with someone from your court and struck a deal. I...don’t know the details but after months of clearing a small path into the mountains and using the knowledge of your secret tunnels, the attack was carried out. Once the palace was secured, soldiers spread out into the city to lock it down. Those who resisted...were not spared.”

Kyro’s nails dug bloody crescents into his palms from clenching his fists. Tears flowed freely down his face as his murderous gaze never left Tristan’s face.

“So, for what sick reason did you drag me here? To torture me? Make me live out the rest of my days waiting on you hand and foot? You should have left me to die,” Kyro spat, malice dripping from every word.

“N-no, you don’t understand. I have no friends here, no power - not until I am crowned on my twentieth birthday at the end of the year. My uncle wants me dead so he can seize the throne for himself. The castle is filled with his followers and I fear he will try to take decisive action soon. That’s...why I brought you here. An outsider. Not under my uncle’s influence and unable to be swayed by his promises. I am the only one who can grant your people their freedom...only if you help me make it to the throne. I can tell you’re strong, my instincts about you were right.” Tristan rubbed his neck gingerly. He slowly looked back at Kyro, scared of what he would see. Tristan’s heart ached at the pain and loss the other was exuding, it radiated off him like heat waves. Kyro was quiet for a long time, his face unreadable. Tristan wondered if it was all for naught in the end and that he would die here anyways - at least his death might serve as a drop of penance for the sins of his kingdom.

“I have three conditions,” Kyro finally said. Tristan’s downcast eyes snapped open as he looked at Kyro earnestly, wet eyes glittering like stars. He nodded for Kyro to go on.

“First, your initial promise and then some. Your first act when you become king will be to immediately end the occupation of Rien, never to set foot in our mountains again. And you will pay reparations for the destruction and loss of life caused by your people.”

“Of course, I couldn’t agree more,” Tristan said with sincerity.

“Second, you will share intelligence with me where it concerns my people and help me find the traitor.”

“Naturally, I do not condone such treachery in the least. And the last?”

“Third...at least when it’s just the two of us, you will treat me like your equal. I am not beneath you and you would do well to remember that.” Kyro’s commanding tone caused Tristan to shudder, making him feel like wanting to crawl into a hole to hide from Kyro’s oppressive presence. The warm glow of the firelight reflected in Kyro’s eyes, heating up their amber hue to a molten gold. Tristan held Kyro’s gaze and nodded firmly.

“I, Tristan, son of Byron and Jada Crane, Crown Prince of Tieria, promise to uphold and honor your conditions with my last breath. I ask in return for your unwavering support and protection until I am crowned.” Tristan swore solemnly and held out his hand to Kyro. Kyro looked at it for a moment then took it firmly in his own.

“I, Kyro...avenger of Rien, accept.”

They shook hands in silence and Tristan was the first to look away, a bit embarrassed. He unconsciously started to run his fingers through his hair, which had come undone in the altercation. Several emotions passed across his face, from fear to anxiety, finally settling on awkwardness. Tristan was immensely relieved that somehow his harebrained plan was in motion, but now had to contend with the fact that he had agreed to let a bloodthirsty beast stay by his side. He had no doubt that if it came down to it, Kyro wouldn’t hesitate to end his life.

“Thank you, Kyro, really,” he said quietly. “Please understand...I never wanted any of this to happen. I am truly sorry about your people-”

“Don’t you  _ dare _ talk about my people,” he cut Tristan off coldly. “I don’t want your apologies and you don’t deserve that peace of mind.” Kyro resumed his previous ruthlessness, dried tear marks highlighting his strong cheekbones like war paint. Tristan nodded weakly, once again on the verge of tears.

“Well...it’s late and we can talk more in the morning. You can actually return to your room through this door,” Tristan walked over to the far side of the wall where a familiar looking door was placed. He unlocked it and when it swung open, Kyro was surprised to see his bedroom on the other side. He looked at it in puzzlement but didn’t have the energy to process anything else. Tristan bit his lip as Kyro walked through, wondering what to say.

“Good night, Kyro.”

From the other room, Kyro turned around halfway and looked at Tristan’s red-rimmed eyes. He considered responding in kind or even not at all. Instead, he settled for something completely different.

“For the record...I am going to kill your uncle.” Kyro shut the door and locked it.

***

Once the oaken door was secured between them, Kyro forced down a visceral scream. He grabbed his head in his hands and slid down into a sitting position, bracing his elbows on his knees. He cried silently for an undetermined amount of time, his conscience eaten away by rage, sadness, and guilt. These treacherous people deserved to pay heavily for their murderous actions and now he was working with one of them? His people deserved better. He was no savior. What crown prince? Kyro still had his doubts that Tristan would even hold up his end of the bargain when all was said and done; but by then he would stop at nothing to drag the other down to hell along with him.

Finally out of tears, Kyro had calmed down enough to make his way to the bathroom and wash his exhausted face. He swapped his clothes for a pair of loose sleeping pants, ignoring the matching top. Kyro tried to get some sleep but the relief of oblivion would not come to him. He tossed and turned endlessly in the large bed, silken sheets feeling like coarse sandpaper on his skin. Kyro stared up at the ceiling, brain working overtime to try and sound out Tristan, who was sleeping deeply just next door.

_ What if this is all some contrived ruse or something he came up with on the spot - anything - to get me to back down...am I a fool? _

_ I could just kill him now and be done with it… _

Kyro was unsure of Tristan’s credibility but for the moment, aside from taking drastic measures, the most productive path forward was to play nicely. He would bide his time, gaining Tristan’s trust, until he could take decisive action on his own. Either way, the game had begun. How things would end would be determined entirely by whether or not Tristan was a man of honor.

The sky had just started to lighten, buttery rays of light creeping into the dark bedroom. Kyro finally couldn’t stand to lay listlessly in bed anymore and got out. He looked at the door connecting their rooms for a while before walking up to it. On a whim, he unlocked his side and turned the knob. It slowly opened a crack.  _ How stupid are you? _ he thought dryly. Kyro quietly crept into Tristan’s room, noting the sleeping body unmoving in the bed. The soft light of dawn was enough for Kyro to see by as he silently toured around the room. The fire had burned down to embers, leaving a slight chill in the air. There was a messy writing desk in one corner of the room while a fancy looking armchair and packed bookshelf occupied another. In fact, there were knee-high stacks of books scattered all throughout the room like land mines. Kyro examined the books, wondering what kind of literature Tristan kept in his personal quarters. He couldn’t understand most of it but there were a couple items of interest. Based on what Kyro could tell, their written languages used the same symbols in reference to aura. Surprisingly, Tristan seemed to have a number of books pertaining to it.

Kyro walked over to the luxurious bed, looking down on Tristan’s sleeping face. The large bed looked especially empty with his small body nestled underneath the sheets, making him appear even younger. Tristan’s eyelashes fluttered as he slept, full, pink lips slightly parting to confirm he was still breathing. Kyro resisted the urge to drop something heavy onto Tristan’s face. He closed his eyes and sent out a wave of his aura, testing Tristan’s. It was quite strong and developed, so Tristan was, to his surprise, an aura user. However, there was something off about it that Kyro couldn’t quite place. It was unlike any aura he’d encountered before - unnaturally still and rigid. It gave him a discomforting feeling.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small, empty bowl sitting atop the bedside table. He picked it up curiously and sniffed, nose immediately wrinkling at the astringent and herbal smell.  _ Medicine? _ he wondered. Replacing it on the nightstand, Kyro resumed his exploration of the room. As time went on he grew increasingly bored and brazen, not caring if he woke Tristan up.  _ If I can’t get any sleep you sure as hell don’t deserve any either _ , he thought bitterly.

He rifled through large chests, all carelessly unlocked, as well as the compartments of the enormous wardrobe taking up a considerable amount of space in the room. Kyro saw the most random and useless assortment of possessions: more books, one or two unused short swords buried beneath stacks of new or used sheets of paper, thick rolls of canvas, and a variety of writing and art supplies. He even saw an exquisitely crafted crown, inlaid with gleaming jewels, sitting under a thick layer of dust at the bottom of one drawer. Kyro absolutely could not get a read on Tristan. Was he extremely messy or simply crazy? He couldn’t decide. There was only one small and flat box he had shamelessly dragged out from under the bed that was locked. Kicking it back into place, Kyro sat on the ground beside the bed, head at eye level with Tristan’s sleeping face.

_ How are you still asleep? _ he shot at him mentally. The room was now painted by the golden rays of sunlight. Kyro mindlessly tugged at the large bottom drawer of the nightstand and was surprised to find it laden with stacks of similarly bound books.  _ Seriously? _ The journals were neatly packed into rows, filigreed initials embossed on the spines.  _ I guess if you’re the crown prince no one would dare to read your diary even if you left it out in the open _ , he thought. Well Kyro had no such reservations, plus it wasn’t as if he could fully understand what was written anyway. He yanked out a volume at random and began flipping through the pages. This one seemed to date back six years, the writing elegant and precise but rather over-sized, like a child’s. Kyro tried to read an entry, able to make out the intention of a sentence here and there, when he heard movement beside him.

Tristan finally began to stir, eyes slowly blinking open. He let out a sigh and stared impassively at the ceiling for a bit before feeling something was off. He turned his head to the side and screamed. Tristan bolted upright and drew the covers up around his whole body protectively, barely able to form coherent thoughts.

“Y-you! What are you doing in my room? Where is your s-shirt? Are those my  _ journals _ ?” Tristan stammered madly, utterly confused by Kyro’s presence.

“You’re the idiot who didn’t lock your door. I couldn’t sleep so I went through your stuff.” Kyro stifled a yawn as he stood up and shrugged, rolling his stiff shoulders, powerful muscles rippling. Tristan remembered the feeling of having the life squeezed out of him and shivered, instinctively scooting farther away. Kyro tossed the book onto the covers and continued, “ _ Relax _ , I can’t read your stupid country’s alphabet even though we share some words.” Much to Tristan’s horror, Kyro sat down on the bed and reclined nonchalantly, obviously lost in his own thoughts.  _ This guy really has no sense of personal space _ , Tristan cried silently.

“Actually,” Kyro started as the thought just occurred to him, “Teach me how to read and write.” Coming out of Kyro’s mouth, it was less a request or suggestion so much as a demand. Kyro realized any future snooping would require such a skill. Tristan was about to respond when the door slammed open.

“Your Highness are you alright?” Cytus along with two guards suddenly appeared, staring open mouthed at the two of them. Tristan had never been more mortified in his life, his face burning with heat and turning a violent shade of red.

“Q-quite, thank you!” he said, wishing he could jump out of the tallest tower in the castle or sink himself to the bottom of the lake. Cytus coughed at the unscrupulous scene of Tristan and the shirtless Kyro sitting in the same bed before excusing himself with a deep bow. Meanwhile, Kyro had barely registered the intruders as his mind was preoccupied with formulating a list of tasks to complete, ranked by importance. He wasn’t snapped out of his contemplation until he felt two hands shove him.

“Can you  _ leave _ ?” Tristan was exasperated beyond belief. Kyro turned to Tristan, as if he had only just remembered where he was. Ignoring Tristan’s pleading, he pointed at the small bowl.

“By the way, what’s that?”

Tristan looked over at where Kyro was pointing, running a hand tiredly through his blonde hair.

“I...don’t sleep well. Without a sleeping draft I have nightmares and fits that keep me up.”

Kyro stared at Tristan blankly, before gaping in astonishment.

“You really are stupid, aren’t you?” he said pointedly. Tristan drew back, offended at the latest of Kyro’s jabs at his intelligence. “You know your uncle wants you dead, yet you knock yourself unconscious every night, just  _ waiting  _ to be murdered?” Kyro’s already plummeting opinion of Tristan was hitting a new low. He couldn’t believe this naive kid was his best shot at saving his people.

“Well what am I supposed to do, run myself ragged until I accidentally off myself, tumbling down a flight of stairs or stepping off the castle walls from lack of sleep?” Tristan shot back. “Besides, I used to have someone guarding me when I slept…” He mumbled, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I suppose that will be your job now,” he sniffed.

“You wish,” Kyro snorted. “In any case, you’re way too vulnerable. We’ll have to do something about that.”

“Whatever, just get out, will you?” Tristan massaged his temples with two fingers, patience finally wearing thin. “I will be busy in meetings with my uncle and the rest of the Grand Council for the morning. We can meet here at lunch to discuss our plan of action moving forward. Kyro waved his hand flippantly and finally went back to his own room. Tristan let out a groan, a migraine splitting his head. He couldn’t believe how rudely Kyro behaved - he was simply mental. Tristan wondered if he really was a royal guard back in Rien, or perhaps everyone was equally uncivilized. Shaking his head, he eventually dragged himself out of bed to start his day, sighing at the chaotic state Kyro had left his room and mind in.


	6. Chapter 6

Kyro stretched languidly, shaking the last vestiges of fatigue from his body. He wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse discovering how much of an airhead Tristan was. But at the very least, he was confident he didn’t need to be on guard around him. Darius either greatly overestimated Tristan’s vigilance or was leaving him alive for some reason. Either way, a bit of light filtered into the depths of his heart, for there was now a path into the future. He had a plan to take back his kingdom and he wouldn’t rest until he saw it through.

After leisurely washing up and making himself look presentable, even choosing a slightly flashier outfit than usual, Kyro headed down to the kitchens. Somehow, the small glimmer of hope he now nursed made the world around him a little brighter. Kyro took his time eating, the day’s breakfast being freshly baked biscuits drowned in a creamy gravy thick with chunks of meat. The castle seemed to be busier now that Tristan and Darius had returned; he assumed the level of activity would only increase with time. However, he couldn’t help but notice the other servants sneaking frequent glances at him, whispering among themselves.  _ Did I forget to wear pants or something? _ He frowned.

Kyro had finished up and was about to leave when Piri swept in carrying a large basket full of folded cloth.

“Kyro!” she exclaimed.

“Hello Piri,” Kyro greeted, surprising the young girl.

“You’re...in a good mood today,” she said tentatively.

“Yes, I suppose I am, aren’t I?” he mused. Piri wondered if Kyro suffered from mood swings or had multiple personalities. She always seemed to meet him under different circumstances, although everyone in the castle shared the same theory at the moment.

“Well, I’m glad the two of you are...getting along.” She coughed politely, ears turning a bit red. “His Highness had seemed so withdrawn as of late, who knew all this time he was just waiting for the right consort!” Piri continued to twitter on, unaware Kyro’s expression had gone flat. “He did his best, you know? Choosing a blouse with the highest collar, but you really should be more careful in the future,” she chided one-sidedly. “Imagine everyone’s faces when they saw the marks on his nec-” Piri’s voice cut off shrilly as Kyro grabbed her arm and flung her into a nearby larder.

“What did you say?” he asked very quietly, hovering over her uncomfortably closely.

“T-to erm, consider the Crown Prince’s position and show a little self-restraint?” Piri giggled nervously, mentally beating herself up for running her mouth too far.

“ _ Consort _ ?” Kyro repeated.

“I-isn’t that why you came to Tieria, because His Highness c-chose you to be his consort?” Piri squeaked.

Kyro stared at her dumbly. Everything made sense now. The way he was treated, the fancy clothes, his own suite with that damned door. Kyro lost it. He left a very confused and frightened Piri behind in a cloud of dust as he ran out of the castle. He made a beeline for the barracks, unable to think clearly. The guards didn’t dare slack off now that the regent and crown prince had returned so the courtyard was busy with the sound of drilling. The confused soldiers barely registered his arrival when he shouted at them in an authoritative voice.

“Someone give me a sword!” He glared at the shocked group of men, breathing hard like a wild animal, until a young trainee, eyes wide in terror, offered up the blunt sword he had been practicing with. Kyro grabbed it and stalked over to one of the training dummies. It was a heavy bag of sand arranged roughly in the shape of a human, fitted in an old set of armor. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside before mercilessly striking at the stand-in. The soldiers didn’t move for a long period of time until they realized Kyro wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. Eventually they returned to their routine, leaving a wide berth around the madman. Even Garrvin, who had previously taunted Kyro, did not want to be on the other end of his sword at that moment.

Kyro muttered to himself as he hacked away.

“Stupid-”

_ Clang! _

“Conceited-”

_ Clang! _

“Useless-”

_ Clang! _

“Prince!”

The head of the dummy exploded in a burst of sand as the helmet flew through the air, landing on the ground with a thud. Kyro panted as he slowly wiped the sweat from his forehead, staring at the beat-up target. Its armor had been dented into an unrecognizable shape, bent and misshapen from his hits. Kyro had no idea how long he had been going at it, only knowing that if he didn’t take out his aggression somewhere, he would probably attack Tristan on sight.  _ What the fuck _ , he thought. He wondered if everyone had just been laughing behind his back the entire time, as if he were just a big joke. Kyro threw the sword on the ground with enough force to lodge it into the soil before picking up his shirt and leaving the courtyard. A collective sigh of relief came from the soldiers, thankful that he didn’t direct his anger at them.

Back in his room, Kyro took a cool shower and was in the middle of changing when he felt Tristan return. Tristan’s heart was weary from the morning’s council session, as it pertained to the follow up reports and proceedings back in Rien. He sighed, looking forward to the lunch that would soon be brought to his room when the connecting door burst open.

“I swear I locked it this time - and you’re still not wearing a shirt.” Tristan threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. Kyro was only wearing a pair of white trousers that contrasted vividly against his tanned skin, his damp hair sprinkling the floor with water drops. The only thing on his muscular upper body was a circular pendant hanging from his neck.

“I picked the lock - great security you have. Also,” he strode across the room until he was directly in front of Tristan, then took a few more steps until the other was backed up against the wall. Kyro looked down at him with a wild expression, eyes churning like a firestorm. Tristan gulped, feeling like nothing good was coming.

“ _ Consort _ ?” Kyro accused, looking like he was about to commit murder.

_ Oh, shit _ , Tristan thought. His hands immediately shot up to protect his neck, ducking under Kyro’s arm and running away to the other side of his bed to put some distance between them. Knowing what he knew about Kyro’s ego and temper, Tristan was honestly terrified.

“N-now Kyro,” he started, holding his hands out in front of him as if he were trying to calm a raging animal. “I didn’t have many options, ok? P-plus, you basically have free rein to do whatever you want. Would you prefer to be scrubbing the floors or mucking out the stables? It’s a gift, really!”

“How about I gift my fist to your face?” Kyro growled, lunging forward at Tristan. Tristan scrambled over the bed with a yelp, the two once again on opposite sides.

“Clearly it’s just a pretense, so why are you getting so worked up about it!” Tristan coughed, out of breath from the physical exertion. They swapped sides several more times, knocking over a few piles of the precariously stacked books in the process. The next time Tristan tried to escape, his fatigue caught up to him and Kyro grabbed his ankle, dragging him to the edge of the bed. Tristan rolled over onto his back in panic, raising his arms to protect his face. He waited for the pain of Kyro’s fists but was instead smacked by a dense feather pillow.

“I. Don’t. Want. To. Be. Your. Anything!”

Each word was punctuated by a swing from the pillow. On the seventh hit, the pressure was too much and the pillow exploded in a flurry of feathers. Both of them were silent, breathing hard in a cloud of white feathers. Kyro looked like he had finally run out of steam and Tristan was red in the face, his usually immaculate hair and clothing in disarray.

“Your Highness, lunch is ser- _Your_ _Highness_!”

Once again the ever faithful Cytus appeared to witness Tristan in the most compromising position. Tristan thought it wasn’t too late for Kyro to smother him with a pillow and end his pitiful existence. He pushed Kyro out of the way and stood up quickly, straightening himself.

“I-I...We were j-just…” Tristan stammered.

“Redecorating,” Kyro said flatly. Cytus raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. The room was in total chaos, books and feathers strewn everywhere.

“You two should be ashamed of yourselves, behaving like wild children. To think your coronation is at the end of the year!” he scolded. “And you!” Cytus turned to an apathetic Kyro. “Have some decorum and decency. If you cannot dress yourself properly I will assign someone to do it for you.” He looked back at Tristan who at least had the conscience to look ashamed and sighed. “Now go eat your lunch before it gets cold. I’ll send Piri to clean up this mess later.” Cytus left the room, bemoaning to himself. “If the Regent were here, he’d have both your heads...and mine!”

Kyro wordlessly shook a few feathers off his head before going to his room to throw on a shirt. He was seriously starting to get fed up with their prudish dress code. When he returned, Tristan was in the sitting room, waiting at the table that was set with a variety of dishes. Kyro sat in the chair across from him and they stared at the food in silence.

“I’m sorry if your involuntary title is...distasteful,” Tristan said after a while.

“I...overreacted.”

Kyro sighed heavily, his emotional state all over the place. These days the smallest things seemed to set him off; he felt like he had absolutely no control over himself. One moment he would be alright and then the next it was as if the world was collapsing around him. He wondered sullenly how long it would take for things to feel normal again, if they ever would. Kyro hated the uncontrollable unease of his unrestrained mental state.

“Unfortunately I don’t think at this point there is a plausible way to change the circumstances, but for both of our sakes I hope we can accommodate each other to the point of not trying to strangle the other once a day.” Tristan gave Kyro a pointed look, then reached over to fill their glasses with ruby colored wine. Kyro had a guiltless look on his face, as if he still believed his actions were justified. Tristan shook his head, surprised at just how immature Kyro could be for he was certain the other was at least a couple years older than himself. Tristan picked up his glass and raised it in front of him. “To a fresh start, working together as allies?”

“To not strangling your ally.” Kyro returned the toast and they both drank before digging into the meal. At the very least, Kyro could stand to be his ally for now. As they ate, Tristan explained their daily schedule moving forward. They would have a light breakfast in the morning before Tristan was stuck for hours in meetings with Darius and the Grand Council. The Grand Council was formed by seven members, each an expert in various aspects of society - such as finance, war, agriculture, or foreign relations - with one of them elected as the Chief Councilman. Since Kyro obviously was not allowed to attend, that meant for the first half of the day, he was free to do whatever he wanted. After having lunch like they were doing then, if Tristan didn’t have any public appearances to make, he was free to take care of his personal affairs. Dinner was usually a more formal matter and Tristan would have to join his uncle and any other guests they might be entertaining in the castle’s great hall. All in all, as long as no one, including Kyro, made any attempts on Tristan’s life, things should be relatively peaceful.

“Oh, before I forget,” Tristan began. “I stopped by the library earlier and asked the castle librarian if he could collect some resources for learning to write. I don’t have anything on my schedule for the rest of the day so we can take a look after eating.”

Kyro nodded in agreement, mouth full of food.

“Also...I’d like you to teach me how to write your language as well.”

“Why?” Kyro asked after swallowing. He wasn’t very pedantic when it came to non-physical skills so he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to do a good job.

“Look at me,” Tristan gestured to himself. “I’m not a fighter like you, just a weak scholar. But at the very least when I have the opportunity to learn a new skill that could be useful in the future, I’ll take it.”

“Alright, then. Just don’t expect too much from me because as much as you’re not a fighter, I’m no scholar.” Kyro gave a wry smile. The two finished their lunch in a quiet truce then went back to Tristan’s room to clean up the mess they made, both feeling rather embarrassed that Piri would have to clean up the aftermath of their immaturity. They organized the fallen books into new piles and collected the feathers on the bed for disposal.

“Sorry about your pillow,” Kyro poked the empty vessel of the decorative cushion. It was embroidered with several colorful fruits and flowers. Tristan merely shook his head.

“It’s ok. I hated it anyway, so I’d say the redecorating was a success.”

***

Once they arrived at the library, the librarian had a stack of what was clearly children’s books prepared for Kyro. He looked at them disdainfully but accepted them nonetheless. Tristan led them to a nook in the very back of the library, where Kyro had found the map on his second day at the castle. Tristan hurriedly cleared off the large desk and apologized for the mess.

“This is all your stuff?” Kyro asked incredulously.

“The number of books I go through sometimes is far too many to carry up to my room, so I had to settle down somewhere. Much more efficient that way.” Tristan pulled up an extra chair on the other side of the desk and motioned for Kyro to sit down. He then took out stacks of blank paper and pens. The two spent the afternoon copying letters and sentences, checking each other’s work and explaining the more complex grammar structures. Kyro’s brain hurt from excessive use. He leaned back in his chair and yawned, stretching. The sun was just beginning to set, the blood red light filtering through the library’s massive lattice windows.

“I think that’s all I can handle for today, my head is going to explode,” Kyro complained. Tristan nodded, organizing his practice sheets into a neat stack. They had made good progress, and Kyro had the added bonus of being surrounded by books written in the Tierian writing system for reading practice.

“I should probably go prepare to meet with my uncle later, so I’ll head off first. If I don’t see you afterward, good night, Kyro.” Tristan gave a small smile before leaving Kyro alone in the library. Kyro lay his head on the smooth wooden surface of the desk, trying to cool his overheating brain. He was utterly drained from the day’s events. Kyro eventually forced himself to get up and do a lap around the library, testing out his new knowledge on the labeled shelves, before heading to the kitchens.

No one was idle this time around so he slipped about unnoticed for the most part. Kyro ate a hearty and flaky meat pie and several sides of different vegetables when he spotted Piri’s signature burnished hair pass through the hallway.

“Piri!” he called, jogging to catch up with her.

“Oh, hello Kyro. H-how are you feeling?” She still felt a bit unnerved by his behavior earlier that day. Coupled with the infamous tale of him beating a training dummy into oblivion, she was quite concerned about his current attitude.

“Much better,” Kyro smiled honestly. “I’m truly sorry about this morning...I was having a rather rough time. Also, I apologize for...the feathers.”

“It’s ok, I understand it must be hard adjusting to a new environment. If you ever need someone to talk to, you can always count on me.” At the mention of the feathers, she laughed lightly. “Don’t worry about it, I actually used the feathers to stuff a doll for one of the chef’s daughters so it worked out perfectly.”

Kyro had a newfound respect for Piri, not just as a diligent servant but also as a friend. He wasn’t really sure if Tristan was a friend in the sense that their relationship was quite odd, if not primarily transactional at the end of the day, so having a confidante like Piri was in and of itself a blessing. They parted ways on a friendly note and Kyro returned to the kitchens to grab a few random fruits and vegetables. Speaking of friends, his equine one was long overdue a visit. By the time Kyro reached the stables it was dark out, but the interior was still brightly lit by incandescent lights that lined the walls. Percival neighed and stomped on the ground when he approached.

“Blackie! Did you miss me?” he cooed at the giant horse. “I brought you some treats. Although I’m not sure what horses like, so you can try them all.” Kyro placed the assortment of produce along the top of the stall for Percival to sniff at. The horse licked a few things before settling on a crisp apple and bright orange carrot.

“You know Blackie, I feel like I’m being torn apart. Life really isn’t so bad here and I even have a chance at saving my people. But the moment I feel good about  _ anything _ , I just feel so guilty I want to scream.” Kyro leaned against the stall door, sighing. The corners of his eyes were wet and his heart ached. The remorse at not being there for his family was like a boulder weighing down his soul. If Kyro wanted to move in any direction, he’d have to drag it along with him every step of the way. Percival blew a stream of air at him then licked his head. Kyro gave the horse a sad smile and patted its nose.

“Kyro?” A cloaked figure walked toward him. Tristan removed his hood and looked at Kyro in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Having a chat with my good friend,” he continued to stroke Percival’s nose. “Although good friends don’t nearly trample one another, hm?” Percival tried to bite Kyro’s hand in response. “You?”

“Oddly enough, I also came to visit Percy.” Tristan stepped up to Percival’s stall and held up his hand. Percival whickered excitedly and nudged his nose into Tristan’s outstretched palm tenderly.

“That’s not fair, how come he’s so nice to you?” Kyro sulked. Tristan laughed. It was a pleasant and light sound.

“Percy belonged to my father. When I was a baby, apparently I would sit on his lap and we would go riding. Nowadays I just keep him company and talk to him every so often.”

Kyro simply nodded, understanding the feeling.

“Do you miss your parents?” he asked quietly.

“Not really. I have very few actual memories of them, so rather than miss people I never knew, I guess I just long to have a similar kind of relationship. You could say my uncle raised me but that man doesn’t have a loving bone in his body.” Tristan smiled darkly. “I guess Cytus would be the closest thing I have to a father. You’ve seen how riled up he can get, but I know it’s because he is just looking out for me.”

“I see,” Kyro said. He didn’t want to offer up any information about his parents so he quickly changed the subject. “I’ve actually been trying to learn how to ride since we don’t have horses in Rien. But Blackie - I mean Percival - has been very uncooperative.”

“Don’t take it personally, Percival doesn’t let anyone ride him, not even me. You’re better off choosing a more temperate horse to ride, especially as a first timer,” Tristan chuckled. 

Knowing that, Kyro was even more determined to ride Percival.

“We’ll see about that,” he muttered. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to it.”

Kyro could tell that Tristan wanted to be alone, for that was the very same reason he himself had come to the stables in the first place. As he started to walk away, he heard Tristan call out to him.

“Here’s a tip, Percival loves sugar cubes.”

Kyro kept walking, waving one hand in the air. A small smile ran across his face, hidden from Tristan’s view.


	7. Chapter 7

The next few weeks passed without incident, much to Kyro and Tristan’s relief. The two of them became quite proficient in each other’s languages, and Kyro had to admit it was a useful tool for them to have a private method of communication. He also had to concede defeat, albeit momentarily, to riding Percival. Otherwise he would never manage to ride any horse at the rate things were going. Under the instruction of Jerall - who still treated Kyro like he was carrying some kind of illness - and oftentimes Tristan’s supervision, Kyro learned to comfortably ride on the docile castle horses. He still longed for the day when he could ride gallantly atop Percival, but for the moment he would be patient. Regardless, riding soon became one of his favorite activities. Kyro hoped he would be allowed to ride outside the city at some point. He had a few opportunities to explore the rest of Lorelai when Tristan went out for his princely duties, but they had yet to actually leave its walls.

Kyro also established some friendly connections with the castle soldiers, much to his surprise. It seemed that after his rather public meltdown, the soldiers were more wary of getting on his bad side. They allowed him to train and spar with them, even teaching him some Tierian fighting forms. Kyro was soon back to his old level of fitness, and not a moment too soon.

One night, as Kyro was about to settle into bed after staying up late reading a book about Tieria’s military, he suddenly felt the presence of an unknown aura closing in on Tristan’s bedroom. From the distance and direction, he could tell they were trying to enter through the balcony. Kyro tracked the intruder’s movements while silently opening the connecting door. Both rooms were equally dark, reflective surfaces barely illuminated by the moonlight. He crept along the floor, keeping close to the other side of the bedroom. The other person quietly approached Tristan’s sleeping body, slowly moving a hand to the weapon hanging at his waist.

Kyro jumped up and shot a wave of his aura at the man, condensing it around him and restricting his movement. He cried out in alarm and struggled fruitlessly.

“It’s no use, who sent you?” Kyro cautiously made his way over to the assassin. Once they stood face to face, Kyro stepped back in shock. The man’s face and head was wrapped in a thick cloth, obscuring his identity. However, the most disturbing thing was that his clothing was from Rien. Kyro’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Who are you?” he asked in the local Rien dialect, much different from the common language spoken across the continent. He furrowed his brows in frustration when the man stayed silent. “I am your prince, Renton Ashai, and I command you to speak!” he hissed, grabbing the assassin by his collar. The assassin let out a delirious laugh. He bit down on something hidden in his mouth and swallowed. “No!” Kyro shouted as the man ingested poison, quickly succumbing to it. Kyro lowered the body to the floor and dragged it closer to the window so he could examine it under the moonlight. The clothes were undoubtedly authentic, as was the curved dagger strapped to his waist.  _ But he’s not  _ from _ Rien _ , he thought soberly. Otherwise he would have answered Kyro immediately. Someone was obviously trying to frame his people.

Kyro fought back the urge to kick the body as he walked over to Tristan’s bed and sat down on the edge. Tristan was sound asleep as usual, having taken the sleeping draft. His face glowed under the moonlight, pale skin tinted an icy blue. He looked as if he were made out of stone instead of flesh and blood. Kyro reached over to grab both his shoulders and shook him roughly.

“Tristan!” he whispered. “Wake up!” It took several minutes of cajoling mixed with shaking - and a few light slaps - before Tristan blearily opened his eyes. When his eyes finally focused and saw Kyro leaning over him, he mumbled sleepily.

“Lovely, my nightmares have evolved.”

Kyro slapped him a couple more times until some alertness returned to Tristan’s eyes. He slowly sat up and looked at Kyro with a questioning expression.

“We have a problem,” he pointed at the body and watched as the blood drained from Tristan’s face. The two of them crept over to the body as Kyro explained what happened, excluding the part where he revealed his identity. “The clothing and dagger are from Rien, but I swear he’s not one of us. Someone is trying to set us up to take the fall for your death.”

“It’s got to be my uncle,” Tristan said quietly. “As if plundering your kingdom wasn’t bad enough, he probably wants to have some kind of motive to suppress Rien completely.”

Kyro clenched his fists in anger, wanting nothing more than to destroy Darius with every fiber of his being. Tristan’s voice snapped him back to the present.

“What do we do with the body?”

“Remove his clothes and burn them, then hide the dagger. We can push the body off your balcony for someone else to find. As long as we don’t say anything, your uncle will probably think it was just a failed attempt.”

Tristan nodded solemnly, creeped out by the presence of a dead body in his room. Kyro stripped the assassin while Tristan restarted the fire, tossing in the bundle of fabric once the flames were high enough. The natural material of the clothing quickly began to burn, eventually disintegrating into flakes of ash. After they threw the body as far as they could off the balcony, watching it fade away into a dark speck, Kyro handed the dagger over to Tristan.

“Do you have a secure place for this?” he asked.

Tristan nodded, kneeling by his bed and pulling out the rectangular box from underneath. He held his hand over the smooth latch and after several moments it popped open. Kyro couldn’t help but whistle, impressed. Aura locks were rare and expensive as they were practically unpickable.

“It’s where I keep some of my parents’ old things,” he said. “No one will look for it here.” Once all the evidence was taken care of, they both sat on the ground, leaning back against the bed. It was still the middle of the night, but despite how tired they were, the incident left them anxious and on edge.

“Now will you stop taking that stupid drug?” Kyro said after a while.

Tristan nodded sullenly. He wasn’t sure how his body would react after having taken it for so long, but a little part of him hoped that by some stroke of luck his nightmares had gone away.

“Say...how did you know there was an assassin?” Tristan asked

Kyro was silent for so long that Tristan thought he hadn’t heard him. After much contemplation, Kyro decided to tell him the truth, for one day Tristan’s life might depend on it. The only people who previously knew the full extent of his aura were now dead.

“My ability is aura manipulation. I can cast it out around me like a net, tracking the auras of anything within its range. Once I learn someone’s aura, I never forget it. So when the assassin entered your room, I knew immediately. I can also subdue people by wrapping them in my aura, that’s how I caught him. I can only hold two people at once, though.” Before the attack on Rien, Kyro had been specifically training his aura to bolster its strength, having only just recently increased his limit to two. He unconsciously gripped the pendant that lay against his bare chest, feeling its reassuring warmth.

“That’s amazing,” Tristan said in genuine praise. “And thank you, you know...for watching over me.” He wrung his hands, truly unsettled by how close his brush with death was.

“All part of the agreement,” Kyro shrugged. “What’s yours, then?”

“My what? I don’t...I’m not an aura user.” Tristan shook his head.

Kyro looked at him in puzzlement.

“That’s impossible, your aura is way above the threshold for most aura users.” Kyro was positive he wasn’t wrong while Tristan was stunned that Kyro’s insight was so precise.

“Well, I was able to pass the cup test when I was younger, but true to form I never managed to actually do anything. How utterly pathetic,” Tristan said bitterly. The cup test was a simple indicator of one’s aural strength generally administered to children; it involved a glass filled to the brim with water. If a child was able to displace the water and make the cup overflow using only the pressure of their aura, it usually meant they had an ability.

“Is that why you have so many books on aura theory?”

“Yes...for a while I was obsessed with figuring out why I couldn’t do anything. I thought maybe I was doing something wrong. Turns out I’m just defective.” He laughed sardonically.

“You’re not defective. Just stupid with no sense of self-preservation,” Kyro teased, nudging Tristan’s shoulder with his own. A small smile appeared on Tristan’s face. They sat in mutual silence for the rest of the night, each absorbed by the thoughts that weighed heavy on their minds.

Tristan barely remembered seeing the orange glow of the sunrise through the windows when the next time he opened his eyes, he was looking up at the ceiling from his bed. He sat up, wondering if everything that had happened was all just a bizarre dream, but the mound of ashes in his fireplace told him otherwise. Pushing the previous night’s harrowing encounter out of his mind, he resolutely started his day.

Once they reached the security report portion of the Grand Council meeting, the topic of the mysterious body was brought up. Everyone looked reasonably alarmed, including Darius, so Tristan couldn’t pick up on any irregularities. The castle guards were ordered to double their patrols with increased vigilance. Tristan knew his uncle wasn’t careless enough to let anything show, but he focused on his expression nonetheless. Luckily, no other issues were raised that day. He filled Kyro in at lunch although there was not much to say.

“And any news from Rien?” Kyro asked anxiously.

“Just more of the same extensive mining operations,” Tristan shook his head.

Kyro ran his hand through his hair in frustration, frowning.  _ I guess no news is good news _ , he thought.  _ Just as long as more people aren’t getting hurt…  _ The last update Tristan had brought him was that although Rien was still occupied, Gerza Swar, one of the remaining Royal Advisors, had been allowed to lead the people in returning to their daily lives - after he was forced to swear loyalty to Darius, of course.

Kyro looked at Tristan from across the table. Neither of them looked all that good, having stayed up for most of the night. However, Tristan was looking particularly distressed. Whether it was from the assassination attempt or the thought of facing his nightmares again, Kyro decided he’d keep an extra close watch that night.

As it turned out, apparently there was nothing to worry about. That night, Tristan’s room was quiet and undisturbed - the mass of strangely silent aura that indicated Tristan’s form remained still. As it was the following night, and the night after that. It wasn’t until Kyro saw Tristan fail to grab his drinking glass three times then proceed to pick it up and splash it over his salad instead of dressing, that he knew something was wrong.

Tristan was sitting hunched over at his desk, writing in his journal, when he heard the connecting door open with a bang.

“Good evening, Kyro who is probably not wearing a shirt and thinks it’s ok to barge in uninvited,” he said in one breath without looking up. Tristan heard him walk over until he felt Kyro towering over him.

“Have you been sleeping?”

“Yes.”

“Every night?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Yes-no, I mean, long enough,” Tristan muttered, closing his eyes and pinching his nose. Kyro slammed his hand onto the wooden desk, causing Tristan to jump in his seat.

“You are literally filling your diary with pages of nonsense!” Kyro grabbed the journal from under Tristan’s hands, shoving the pages in his face. The past few days had extremely long entries that half way through devolved into unintelligible gibberish. “Tristan, you  _ need  _ to sleep.”

“I am sleeping,” he replied flippantly. “I manage to pass out here and there.”

“Yes, face first into your breakfast, maybe.” Kyro couldn’t believe how stubborn Tristan was being. Seeing as how he was pointedly ignoring him, Kyro made an exasperated sound. Annoyed with no patience left to spare, Kyro grabbed Tristan from where he was sitting and threw him over his shoulder.

“Wh-what are you doing! Put me down!” Tristan squirmed and pounded his fists on Kyro’s broad back. Suddenly, he felt himself free falling before landing on his bed with a thud. He heard a light scraping noise as Kyro dragged over a chair and sat down in it, crossing his arms sternly.

“I’m not leaving until you sleep.”

“Then I suppose we’re at an impasse.”

“You’re not making my job any easier by literally being a hazard to yourself.”

“Is keeping an eye on one little prince too tough for you?” Tristan mocked, irritable enough to pick a fight.

“No, but I didn’t sign up to take care of a giant baby either.”

“I’m not acting like a baby.”

“Does the big scary nightmare make the baby want to cry?” Kyro taunted.

“Stop. Calling. Me. A baby.”

“Aw, we can leave the lights on for the baby if he’s afraid-”

“I am afraid, okay!” Tristan shouted. “I am absolutely  _ terrified  _ of sleeping and the nightmares it brings. The only peace I get is when I drug myself unconscious.” His eyes burned, brimming with tears he adamantly refused to let fall.

“What are you so afraid of in your nightmares?” Kyro asked quietly.

“I-I’m all alone in an endless darkness. I can’t see or hear anything, but I can feel something slowly eating away at me. And it hurts so much, like it’s erasing my very being.” A rogue tear escaped down the corner of his eye, trailing down the side of his face. He drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around himself protectively.

“Ever since...the night we met, I’ve been tormented by nightmares too. Not like yours, but I get lost in an infinite loop of all the terrible images my mind can conjure. All I can hear are the screams of people - my people - dying while I’m standing in a sea of blood. Then something grabs me and I get dragged under until I drown. When I wake up, I feel like I’m choking with the taste of metal in my mouth.”

“How do you cope with it?” Tristan looked at Kyro with a pained expression.

“I cry,” he admitted. “A lot. It’s always better to let it out than keep it in. But the only thing that brings me back is focusing on the feeling of being alive and the faces of those waiting for me to return.”

“Must be nice to have people who truly care about whether you live or die,” Tristan said ruefully, wiping his tears on his sleeve.

Kyro looked at Tristan straight in his eyes then held out his hand.

“It might not count for much considering I have ulterior motives, but I care. So that’s one person on your side. I’ll be here, right next to you, the entire time.” Kyro held his gaze firmly. Tristan looked down at Kyro’s outstretched hand, remembering how they had first shook hands not too long ago to seal their agreement. They were also the hands that had viciously bruised his neck. But Kyro had been doing his best to protect him, proving it just the other night. Tristan got the feeling that he wouldn’t harm him again. Sighing in defeat, he climbed under the blankets then took Kyro’s hand. It was large and warm, easily wrapping around his own. He finally laid down and looked up at Kyro, the bags under his eyes even more pronounced.

“Wake me up immediately if I start freaking out, ok?”

Kyro nodded and promised. Tristan finally closed his eyes, quickly succumbing to his accumulated fatigue. Kyro relaxed once Tristan’s breathing evened out. He watched him intently, observing for any minute changes. Eventually, Kyro nodded off as well.

He woke with a start when he felt a sudden pressure on his hand - Tristan was gripping it painfully, knuckles white and nails digging into his skin. Kyro had lost track of the time, unsure how long he had fallen asleep for, but the fire hadn’t gone out completely so it couldn’t have been too long. He focused his attention on Tristan whose face was twisted in pain.

“Tristan!” Kyro called.

Tristan began to cry out, tossing back and forth on the bed and thrashing about wildly. His face was deathly pale and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, plastering golden locks of hair to his forehead. His breathing was ragged and uneven as his body was wracked by tremors. Tristan’s grip on Kyro’s hand was like a vise. He remained unresponsive to Kyro’s calls, tears streaming down his face. Kyro grabbed Tristan’s other hand and began gathering his aura, sending it out to explore Tristan’s. He was horrified to find that Tristan’s aura was a turbulent storm, ripping and tearing into itself violently as if self-destruction was its only directive. It was nothing like the eerily calm and inert aura he had encountered the other day.

“Wake up! Tristan, wake up!,” Kyro repeated over and over again into Tristan’s ear, holding him tightly in his arms. Tristan finally stopped shaking as his eyes snapped open, free from the terror of his nightmare. He was gasping, chest convulsing as if he could barely draw breath.

"K-Kyro?”

“It’s ok, I’m here, I’m here” he soothed, gently stroking Tristan’s head.

Tristan buried his face in Kyro’s shoulder sobbing, his wet tears staining the tan skin. Kyro drew his arms around him even tighter, a solid lump forming in his throat. He felt ashamed that he had pushed Tristan into experiencing something so traumatizing, but it had led to an alarming and critical discovery: there was something very, very wrong with him.

Tristan eventually cried himself to the point of passing out from exhaustion, curling into a ball under the bedsheets. Kyro stayed by his side for the rest of the night at a complete loss, shaken to his core. He had never encountered something like this before. Rien was a hotbed for aura research and study, considering the prevalence of aura users within its population, but Kyro had never even heard of anything similar.  _ What could possibly cause his own aura to consume itself? _ He racked his brain for anything at all. The only conclusion he could make was that if Tristan continued having these episodes, it would very well kill him, for the strength and condition of one’s aura was directly tied to their physical well-being. Once again Kyro was dumbfounded as to how Tristan had managed to survive for so long, given everything that was stacked against him.

When Tristan awoke, it was still the early hours of dawn. He pushed himself up weakly, throat raw and dry. Kyro was sitting on the bed beside him asleep, their hands still joined. Tristan called Kyro’s name in a hoarse voice until he stirred. He blinked his eyes open wearily, looking around in a daze before finding Tristan. He turned to face him, finally releasing their hands.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, concern and guilt in his eyes.

“Admittedly, not great,” Tristan grimaced. He was wan and dispirited, looking as if he barely had the energy to move.

“I’m so sorry...” Kyro said quietly, although he knew his apology did nothing to appease Tristan’s suffering. Kyro’s heart hurt when he looked at his pitiful appearance. Unsure of how to break the news of his findings, Kyro settled on his usual straightforward bluntness. “There’s something you need to know,” he began. “When you were...having your nightmare, I checked your aura. It was...destroying itself. I’ve never seen anything like it before but if not treated...I think it will kill you.” Kyro glanced at Tristan. “But I’m sure we can figure out what’s wrong and fix it, there must be something in the thousands of books in the library,” he added quickly, trying to end on a positive note.

Tristan didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He covered his face with his hands, shaking his head in disbelief.

“My uncle must be the luckiest man in the world,” he said with a sharp laugh. “No matter what I do it seems like he’ll get what he wants in the end.” Tristan’s light eyes reflected a bitter harshness.

“ _ No _ ,” Kyro said firmly, grabbing Tristan by the shoulders. “We’ll find a way. I’m not going to sit back and watch you die.”

Tristan looked tired, shaking his head sadly.

“You don’t understand, I’ve already read every single book we have on auras or nightmares, even poison or other illnesses. There’s simply nothing.” Tristan’s expression was one of defeat. “You’ll just be wasting your time...and useless, unnecessary people like me aren’t worth the effort.” He laid back down and turned over on his side, away from Kyro. “Don’t worry though, I’ll keep taking the sleeping draft,” he said quietly. “As long as my uncle’s treachery is thwarted I’ll continue to be a thorn in his side until I can free your people.”

Kyro was silent, his expression complicated and pained. He reached out a hand to comfort Tristan, but hesitated, retracting it into a fist and eventually drawing it back. Tristan suddenly spoke again.

“Can you tell Cytus I won’t be seeing anyone today? I think I’ll just lay in bed for a while.”

“I will,” Kyro replied, unsure of what else to say. Tristan’s dismissal and desire to be left alone was clear. He got up and returned to his room without another word, not wanting to disturb Tristan any further.

Kyro spent the day with an obvious air of despondency hanging around him. Over the past month, he had been struggling to cope with the loss of his old life and everything he held dear. The grief had left him unstable and a shadow of his former self, but Kyro had something of value to lose in the first place, unlike Tristan. Kyro’s upbringing was full of warmth and love, having no shortage of family and friends. He couldn’t imagine growing up without his parents’ affection or having his younger siblings around to take care of. And Rien, although small, knew no hardships in his lifetime. Compared to Tristan, he couldn’t have had a more blessed life. Kyro pictured Tristan as a child, orphaned and surrounded by adults who only wanted to take advantage of him - having an uncle who couldn’t wait to see him dead. Clearly he didn’t have any close friends growing up, becoming accustomed to solitude and seclusion. It was no wonder that Tristan struggled with his sense of self-worth.

Since Tristan had given up on himself long ago and had no one to fight for him, Kyro took it upon himself to save his sorry existence whether he liked it or not. Kyro found it ironic that he was fighting to protect the life of someone he had once vowed vengeance upon, but he knew in his heart that Tristan was never the bad guy, but a victim as well. He didn’t deserve the unfortunate lot he had been dealt and Kyro was determined to reverse the wheel of fate - he would smash it into pieces if need be.

  
Undeterred by Tristan’s declaration, Kyro turned to the library to collect every book he could find related to the study of aura and aura users.  _ There has to be something he missed _ , he thought with determination. Eventually, the number of books he amassed in his room rivaled the small library in Tristan’s. All there was left to do now was read.


	8. Chapter 8

Kyro was going out of his mind. He was sick of books. Disgusted, even, to the point where he saw floating words and letters when he closed his eyes. He didn’t understand how anyone could find reading fun. Tristan had ended his self-isolation the following day, going about his business and acting extremely normal. It seemed like he didn’t want to discuss the matter of his condition so Kyro played along, never bringing it up. They quickly returned to their regular rhythm, just with the addition of an unending sea of tomes and encyclopedias for Kyro.

For the next few weeks, nobody saw him without a book in hand. Everyone was thoroughly mystified over his new found love of literature, and whenever questioned about what he was reading, Kyro would make something up on the spot and run off. This forced him to wander the castle in search of the most remote spots to read undisturbed, for he couldn’t stay sane locked up in his room indefinitely. Kyro had also gotten into the habit of staying up later than usual reading while keeping watch over the unconscious Tristan, eventually falling asleep beside him surrounded by an array of books and crumpled up sheets of paper covered in notes and speculation. Tristan couldn’t help but feel pleased at Kyro’s dedication, although his conscience told him not to get his hopes up and that Kyro would give up sooner than later.

“You know you’ll wake up with a nasty paper cut one day if you keep this up,” Tristan said over breakfast. “I heard wearing shirts is a great first line of defense.”

“Leave me alone,” Kyro mumbled, his mouth full. He was shoveling food down his throat in haste to pick up where he left off in his research. “It’s just more comfortable, ok?”

Tristan shook his head; sometimes Kyro was just impossible to reason with. Tristan stared at Kyro’s face, noting the dark shadows under his eyes. The contrast made his golden eyes even brighter, although they were now rimmed in red. It was Tristan’s turn to worry about Kyro, concerned he was wearing himself out over a wild goose chase. He sighed, wondering how much sleep the other was actually getting every night.

“Just give up already…” Tristan said under his breath. A small part of him was a bit lonely now that Kyro had taken up the mantle of being a bookworm, focusing only on dusty pages instead of spending his time bothering him.

“What?” Kyro said looking up, a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth as he thumbed through the pages of the book he was currently reading.

“I said, I’ll be very busy these days in preparation for the banquet. It’s my uncle’s birthday at the end of the month, so naturally it’ll be an extravagant affair.”

Kyro made a nauseated face.

“I suppose I’ll have to attend in your country’s ridiculous fancy clothes?” he asked.

“Not only that, but you’ll have to be on your best behavior.”

Kyro groaned in disgust. Thanks to his daily routine, he almost never ran into the regent, and was quite happy to keep it that way. Having to play nicely at Darius’s celebration would be a true test of his self control. He contemplated whether or not he should feign sickness that day.

“Anyway,” Tristan continued. “Just don’t push yourself too much...please.” He wasn’t used to seeing anyone genuinely try so hard for his sake.

“I’m fine,” Kyro said as he stood up from the table, having finished his meal. “I’m not as fragile as a certain someone,” he teased with a smile. He reached over absentmindedly and gently stroked Tristan’s head before departing for the library.  _ He’s definitely lost it _ , Tristan thought in shock, touching the top of his head and feeling his face heat up.

Back in the castle library for the millionth time, Kyro had a heavy book on the curative and remedial applications of aura laid out in front of him. He figured if they couldn’t directly identify the issue, perhaps running the full assortment of treatment might do the trick. Kyro let out a deep sigh, skimming through the section on sleep therapy when something caught his attention. The book identified aura users who could implant their aura into others, giving a calming and rejuvenating effect that produced peaceful dreams. It referred to them as  _ dream soothers _ . What really made Kyro stop and think, however, was the small footnote at the bottom of the page.

“Not to be confused with their rarer, malicious counterpart,  _ dream eaters _ . See volume two for further details,” Kyro read quietly to himself. His brain paused, for he knew exactly which ‘volume two’ was being referred to. The author had written two books, one on positive aura effects and the other focusing on the negative. The second had been one of the first books Kyro looked into, practically reading it cover to cover. But he had never read a single word about any so-called dream eaters. His mental catalogue told him the book was probably somewhere buried at the bottom of his ever growing ‘already read’ pile, and he hurriedly left the library to run back to his room. Kyro waded on his knees through a sharp ocean of hard covered texts, sifting around for the book in question. He finally found it, the embossed title worn with age, and cracked it open.

Kyro skimmed through each chapter that he had previously read word for word before. There were sections covering some of the most wild and unheard of things Kyro could imagine, but nothing on the phantom dream eaters. He almost threw the book in frustration before flipping to the back of the book, checking the appendix. Kyro’s heart stopped when right there, printed on the page was ‘dream eater, 54.’ His pulse began to race as he carefully turned back to the first half of the book, slowly counting along as he touched each of the faded numbers printed in the corner of each page.  _ Fifty-one...fifty-two...fifty-three...fifty-six…  _ Kyro’s mind went blank as he flipped in between the pages like a madman.  _ Where is it? _ He wanted to scream; he was so close. How could it be missing a page? A single page had been seamlessly removed from the book, impossible to catch if you weren’t looking for it. Kyro shot up from the ground and out of his room. In a rush of adrenaline, he sent out his aura as far as he could, hoping to find Tristan. Luckily, Kyro locked onto his location immediately and began running.

“What do you think of the seating arrangement, Your Highness?” Cytus passed a handwritten diagram over to Tristan.

Tristan examined it for a few moments, reading the names thoughtfully. The social politics of the Tierian nobles was nothing to sniff at, and he had to take extra caution to avoid offending the wrong people. The two of them were standing in a massive ballroom, frantic activity all around them. Tables and chairs were being carefully moved into place while Piri and other servants carried in stacks of decorative tablecloths and baskets of ornaments.

“I would swap Elliot Pierce with his cousin Orion - he’s far more agreeable to deal with, and Saria Blackwood should move up several ta-”

“Tristan!” Kyro shouted as he burst into the room.

All eyes turned to him, someone even dropped a chair in surprise.

“...Crane...Crown Prince of Tieria,” he added awkwardly with a cough.

Everyone stared at him like he was crazy. Cytus looked appalled while Tristan thought he was going to cough up blood. Kyro quickly made his way over to where they were standing before grabbing Tristan’s hand.

“Excuse us, Cytus,” he said while dragging a stunned Tristan behind him. Kyro didn’t say a word until they had made it all the way back to his room. Slamming the door shut, he turned to Tristan, breathless.

“What is  _ wrong  _ with you?” Tristan said, shaking Kyro off. Kyro ignored him and ran to grab what he had left on top of a pile of scattered books. He took Tristan’s hand and slapped the heavy book into it.

“Page. Fifty. Four.”

Tristan looked at Kyro like he was psychotic, a bit freaked out over his behavior. He proceeded to examine the book in his hand, remembering its contents at once. Tristan had read it dozens of times over the years, never having found significance in any of its pages. Humoring the rabid Kyro, he began to flip through the book.

“I don’t get it, Kyro,” he said, shaking his head in exasperation. “There’s no page fifty-four…” Tristan paused. “There’s no page fifty-four,” he repeated aloud. Tristan looked up at Kyro, his eyes wide. “You don’t think…”

Kyro nodded, his expression furious.

“I’m going to end that insidious bastard if it’s the last thing I do,” Kyro fumed, clenching his fist in anger.

Tristan was flooded by several emotions, unsure of how to process the revelation. He sat down on the edge of the bed, legs giving out from under him. Tristan shivered; his uncle was a terrifyingly thorough man. How long ago had he planned this - just how many steps ahead was he? Tristan also felt like crying - could there really be hope to save him?  _ The page might not even exist anymore _ , he thought pessimistically. As if he had read Tristan’s mind, Kyro knelt in front of him so that they were at eye level.

“We’ll find it,” he swore. “Just like how we discovered it was missing in the first place. There’s absolutely no turning back now.” Kyro smiled reassuringly, exuding a warm confidence. Tristan wiped the corners of his dewy eyes and nodded, infected by Kyro’s optimism.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Tristan looked down shly. “Thank you for not giving up...I feel like all you’ve been doing is saving me when I’ve done nothing for you.”

Kyro patted his head; he liked the feel of Tristan’s soft hair.

“Hey, technically you did save my life first, regardless of motive,” he said. “Just returning the favor.” Kyro grinned cheekily then stood up. “But it’s hardly over yet, we still have to find the damn thing. Do you honestly think your uncle might still have it?”

Tristan pondered for a while. Darius was a proud and arrogant man who liked to hold onto important things, oftentimes as if he were collecting trophies of his conquests. His quarters were heavily decorated by rare treasures or the remains of animals he had hunted.

“If he kept it, chances are it’s locked up with other important documents in his study.” Tristan bit his lip, surely this would be not only an impossible task, but a death wish as well. Kyro merely laughed out loud, surprising Tristan.

“Then it’s settled, I’ll steal it from him.”

Tristan looked at Kyro incredulously.

“How?”

“While he’s celebrating at the banquet, I’ll slip in and out. No one will know,” Kyro said with a mischievous glint in his eye.

***

The plan was surprisingly straightforward, but Tristan was anxious nonetheless. The next few days were a whirlwind of activity and even Kyro was dragged into the preparations. The two of them were forced into town by Cytus to be fitted for ‘acceptable attire,’ much to Kyro’s dismay, taking a rare trip out into the city. They rode a luxurious carriage into Lorelai’s business district, where expensive looking boutiques lined the streets. Kyro complained the entire way there, giving Tristan an intense migraine. The streets were packed with people, many of whom were Tierian nobles similarly on the hunt for the latest fashion, but everyone parted once they saw the two approach. The crowd responded excitedly to Tristan’s presence, those closest to him bowing in respect while others farther back merely waved or cheered. Tristan smiled politely and returned the greetings, taking care to grab Kyro’s elbow and lead them quickly into the correct building. He let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose once they were safely inside. The muffled commotion from beyond the door could still be heard for a while longer until the townspeople finally dispersed.

“Someone’s popular,” Kyro said, smirking.

“It’s the crown on my head that appeals to them, not me as a person,” Tristan said, rolling his eyes and waving a hand dismissively.

While the public opinion of the kingdom’s crown prince was generally positive, Tristan understood it was just because he hadn’t done anything reprehensible yet; it wasn’t as if they truly knew enough to judge his character. Their attention was diverted when the tailor and his assistants appeared, ushering Tristan into a private fitting room.

Kyro was left to ponder his own relationship with the people of Rien - he had always believed he was genuinely well liked, and the royal family seemed a lot closer to their subjects there than in Tieria. But Kyro had to admit, the scale of the two kingdoms was quite different; it simply wasn’t feasible for the citizens of Tieria to get to know Tristan in the same manner. Likewise, it was near impossible for Darius to be exposed as the ruthless tyrant he really was. Kyro remained pensive until it was his turn to be fitted.

Once their custom orders were placed, the two returned to the castle, thoroughly exhausted from having to choose between endless fabric samples. Normally Kyro would be delighted for a chance to showcase his vanity, always having loved parties and feasts - or any excuse to be drunk and wanton, really - but this was one he had no desire to partake in. Tristan as well, was even less enthused. But despite the irritably festive mood, they carried on as usual, keeping the excitement of their secret plan under wraps.

Before they knew it, the time had finally come. The two of them braced themselves for a long and ordeal filled day, dreading it for various reasons. Tristan had gotten up earlier than usual, needing to handle last minute preparations. Meanwhile, Kyro was gratefully catching up on his lost sleep, not stirring until the sun was well above their heads. He stretched lazily, glad that his presence was not mandatory until the banquet in the evening. He knew Tristan had to attend some kind of afternoon luncheon with his uncle and other equally pretentious nobles; Kyro didn’t envy him one bit.

After sneaking some food from the kitchens, which was no different from a warzone - hundreds of dishes were all being prepared at the same time - Kyro leisurely spent the afternoon getting ready for the evening. Even though he couldn’t care less about the occasion, he was still a prince who was used to making a statement with his appearance. It had been a lifetime ago since he had the opportunity to preen so he carefully took his time, enjoying an indulgent scented bath and brushing the entire length of his hair until it was glossy and smooth as silk.

Since Kyro had been given the liberty of selecting his outfit for the night, as long as it was from a tailor Cytus approved of, the result was a predominantly black ensemble highlighted with silver thread and embellishments. Kyro wore a silken shirt with elegantly gathered sleeves under a vest that was a midnight blue so dark it was almost black. The lapels were folded down and decorated with silver filigrees along the edges while two sets of delicate silver pins in the shape of starbursts suspended thin chains across his chest. Around his waist was a simple, but matching belt. He kept this lower half plain, with fitted black trousers and boots, to keep the attention above. And of course, underneath it all was his soulstone pendant. When Kyro walked it was like the night sky had come to join them on the ground. He tied back his hair with his usual clip, finishing his preparation. Kyro still thought he looked ridiculous, but he knew he cut a dashing figure regardless. 

By the time he arrived at the ballroom, it was nearly full with guests. People milled about, enjoying the luxurious spread of food and chatting over the refined music. Kyro knew Tristan and his uncle would be introduced individually upon their grand entrance, so he downed a glass of sweet wine while he waited. Eventually, the music quieted and Cytus’s clear voice addressed the crowd.

“Arriving, His Highness the Crown Prince.”

Kyro stood at the front of the crowd, watching along with everyone else as Tristan entered the ballroom. They made eye contact for a brief moment, and for the duration of it Kyro forgot how to breathe. Tristan was a vision of pure white, resplendent in a suit with gold trimming and tassels accentuating him fashionably. His golden hair was in its trademark braid, although this time strands of actual gold thread were woven in. Atop his head was the regal crown Kyro had seen cast aside in his room, now polished and gleaming under the lights. Darius was introduced shortly thereafter, but Kyro’s gaze never left Tristan. After shaking hands and exchanging quick greetings with those who approached him, Tristan finally broke through the crowd to where Kyro was standing.

“Look at you, wearing a shirt. I’ve never been prouder,” Tristan said with a grin.

“You don’t look too bad either, for someone who has more books than friends,” Kyro teased. Tristan jabbed him in the side with his elbow before leaning in to whisper in Kyro’s ear.

“Walk around with me for a bit until my uncle’s formal greeting ceremony. After your turn you can slip away.”

Kyro nodded silently, his ear burning from Tristan’s breath and a sweet scent filling his nose. The two of them slowly made their way through the room, making small talk and introductions as they went. They stood out magnificently, contrasting each other like night and day. Kyro noticed with displeasure the number of young ladies who forced their way into Tristan’s path, giggling and smiling shyly. He stood beside Tristan like a sentinel, glaring at anyone who dared to come too near.

As it drew closer to the scheduled time for Darius’s personal greetings, Kyro’s anxiety began to spike. He had pushed the thought of Darius so far out of his mind for the past month, completely preoccupied by everything else that had been going on, that now he was utterly unprepared to face him. Kyro’s eyes darted around anxiously, wondering where he was at any given moment, his mental fortitude quickly deteriorating. Suddenly, he felt Tristan’s hand slip into his own with a squeeze. Kyro looked down to meet Tristan’s gaze. He was either trying to convey ‘don’t worry, everything will be alright’ or ‘please don’t kill my uncle on his birthday.’ Kyro couldn’t tell which but was grateful for his reassuring touch nonetheless. He reluctantly parted from the warmth of Tristan’s hand when the ceremony began.

Given his status, Tristan naturally went first. The crowd had gathered toward the back of the hall where the regent’s throne was situated. Darius stood on the dais as Tristan approached. He knelt before his uncle’s outstretched hand and kissed it lightly, giving a benevolent blessing.

“I wish for your good health and fortune always, Uncle. May this year be as prosperous and auspicious as the last.”

The train of well wishes went on, cycling through the Grand Council and other notable aristocrats before finally reaching Kyro. His face was a shade paler than normal as he walked up, hands clenched into fists on either side of him. Everyone watched him with visceral interest, the mysterious foreigner who had caught the crown prince’s eye. Tristan observed from the side, his concern masked by a placid smile. He hoped with every fiber of his being he wasn’t about to witness a murder.

Kyro stopped in front of Darius, pausing for a moment. Then he knelt down in a sweeping bow and smoothly took Darius’s hand to kiss it.

“Your Highness, may your life be as long and delightful as your heart is honorable and pure.” Kyro spoke loudly and clearly, his voice steady and unwavering in resolution. He looked up straight into Darius’s narrowed eyes before standing and retreating. Kyro turned to leave, placing a hand on Tristan’s shoulder in passing. Tristan resisted the urge to follow him out; he could feel Kyro’s hand trembling. He prayed at the very least the mission would be a success.

Kyro slipped out of the ballroom and headed down the corridor. It wasn’t until he was far enough away to be unable to hear the revelry that he stopped to lean against the wall. His heart was pounding as he gasped for breath, straining to regain control of his shaking body. Kyro tilted his head back until it touched the wall, focusing on the intricately tiled ceiling to calm down. Seeing Darius again, kneeling in front of him, it was almost too much for him to bear. But all he could do for now was take his rage and funnel it toward saving Tristan.

Prior to that day, Tristan had walked Kyro through the castle in preparation, showing him several different paths to Darius’s study. Kyro took one of them now at a leisurely pace, not running into anyone of note. He kept this aura swirling around him, filling the entire hallway and peeking out around the corner. He would know immediately if anyone was coming even remotely near him. The door to Darius’s private study was large and carved out of a deep red wood. Kyro looked around furtively before examining the doorknob.  _ Again with the terrible security _ , he thought. It only took him a few minutes to pick the lock and slip inside.

The office was large and handsomely appointed, walls paneled in the same wood as the door instead of the usual white stone. Wide shelves filled with books and rare trinkets ran the length of the room while a small bar cart topped with a variety of expensive looking spirits was off in a corner. Towards the back was a broad wooden desk, polished to the point where Kyro could see his own reflection. He pushed the heavy, high backed chair out of the way and began searching around the desk. Kyro rifled through the drawers quickly and efficiently, barely pushing a paper out of place. However, he found nothing of interest. He moved to look through the shelves as well, but once again turned up empty handed.  _ There must be a secret compartment or some kind of hiding place _ , he thought. Someone as discerning as Darius would never leave his secrets so easily accessible.

Kyro froze momentarily as he felt two people coming down the hall. He quickly hid behind the thick blood red curtains that framed the large window behind the desk, but to his relief they kept walking past the door.  _ This is taking too long _ , he thought. He hurried back over to the shelves and continued to comb through them. Kyro paused in front of an open part of the shelf that only held a detailed stone bust instead of books. He realized in disgust it was Darius himself.  _ Narcissistic bastard _ . Kyro felt around the back of the shelf, honestly just grasping at straws at that point. When he felt nothing out of place he sighed, staring at the statue in annoyance.

After zoning out for a few moments, his eyes happened to focus on the wainscotting on the wall behind. It was a typical raised rectangular accent piece, slightly smaller than the larger wooden panel surrounding it. What stuck out to him was the fact that the wood at the top right corner was slightly worn and scratched. Kyro immediately moved the statue to the ground before pulling at the corner of the panel. After a bit of tugging, it started to come loose until he was able to pull the entire piece away. Hidden in the wall was a large rectangular box, the latch identical to the one he had seen on the box under Tristan’s bed. Kyro gently slid the box out of its resting place, setting it on the ground.  _ Aura lock _ , he mused to himself with an air of arrogance.  _ Unpickable...to everyone but me _ . Kyro held his hand up to the metal latch and slowly fed it wisps of Darius’s aura he had stolen from when they touched earlier. A small click sounded and the box lid popped open. Kyro couldn’t help but be smug,  _ I guess if I can’t get Rien back, I have a bright future in thievery. _

The contents of the box were mixed but mainly packets of documents. Kyro slowly checked each bundle, skimming them for the missing page. Darius must have filed the papers in reverse chronological order, as the farther back in the stack Kyro got, the older the documents were. He eventually came to a small yellow envelope nestled in between two thick packets. He slipped it out of the stack and peeled it open, finding a single piece of paper folded in half within. Kyro’s eyes widened in excitement as he finally looked upon the missing page. He hastily tucked it inside his vest and returned the empty envelope to the stack. Out of curiosity, Kyro checked what was at the very bottom of the pile. It was an even more aged but larger envelope with a circular seal stamped on the front. He instantly recognized the emblem of a large tree from when he read old history books in the library for practice - it was the royal crest of Versal. Intrigued, Kyro took the envelope as well.

He carefully returned everything to its original location, taking one last look at the study before exiting and locking the door behind him. Kyro was nearly jumping off the walls in excitement, he couldn’t believe he had pulled it off. His heart soared, eager to return to Tristan’s side and give him the good news.

Back at the banquet, Tristan had been accosted by no less than six of the kingdom’s most notable aristocrats’ daughters, all of marrying age. He had dodged them expertly, as he had learned to over the years, and made his way to his uncle’s side at the head table.

“I swear, is it just me or am I being hunted?” he muttered to himself, taking a seat next to Darius. The older man took a sip of wine, the corners of his mouth turned upwards.

“Come now, Tristan. What’s wrong with being chased by beautiful women? You’re the golden prize every noble lady in Tieria has her eye on. It comes with the territory, boy. You might as well enjoy it.” Darius laughed deeply at his nephew’s obvious distaste. “Anyway, you should stop playing around with that Rien filth,” he continued. “You’ve had your bit of fun, it’s high time you started seriously considering your options. It doesn’t matter who you want to keep on the side, but Tieria will one day require a queen.” Darius pointed out a regal and elegant looking girl around Tristan’s age sitting at a nearby table. “What about Eris Gria? Strong bloodline, good manners, and quite easy on the eyes.”

Tristan forced himself not to roll his eyes in repulsion.  _ Trying to marry me off quickly for whatever political gain you can before I inevitably die? _ he thought with disdain. Eris was the eldest daughter of Herron Gria, a member of the Grand Council and direct descendant of a founding family. As if on cue, Eris rose from her seat and walked over to their table. She was wearing a silver gown that flowed like mist around her slim figure. Her honey colored hair was an intricate crown of braids and delicate silver hair pieces. Eris curtsied deeply, greeting them both.

“Eris, to what do we owe your honored presence?” Darius asked with a sly smile.

“I was wondering if His Highness would care for a dance,” she said demurely, long eyelashes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly.

“Of course he would,” Darius said loudly before Tristan could object. He clasped Tristan’s shoulder tightly, leaning in to whisper threateningly. “It’s just one dance, don’t make a scene.”

Tristan pursed his lips before wordlessly standing up and offering Eris his arm. The two of them painted a stunning picture as they swept onto the dance floor, assuming the proper positions as the next song began. They danced along to the music in perfect step, onlookers gazing upon them with envy and reverence.

Kyro stood in the entrance of the hall, watching from afar as an unknown beauty was draped all over Tristan, leaning in to whisper something in his ear that caused him to smile. A tight lump developed in his throat as he watched the two dance in unison, sparkling under the lights. He swiftly turned away, heart constricting in unfamiliar turmoil, when he almost knocked over someone carrying a large tray of food.

“I’m so sorry Piri,” Kyro exclaimed, grabbing her arm to stabilize her before everything tumbled to the floor.

“Kyro, where’ve you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you all night,” Piri said after regaining her balance, relieved that nothing had fallen.

“You know...here and there,” he said lamely. Kyro couldn’t hide the desolate expression on his face in front of the younger girl. “Actually, where do you guys keep the wine?”

***

After spending a substantial amount of time accompanying Eris, surprised to have found her presence not all that unpleasant, Tristan finally was once again by himself. The night was pressing on and he still hadn’t reunited with Kyro. Tristan bit his lip nervously when he felt a light tug on his sleeve.

“Piri, what’s wrong?” He was surprised to see her standing beside him, eyes darting around in apprehension.

“Your Highness…” she began in a small voice. “It’s Kyro.” Piri looked down at her feet in shame. Tristan’s imagination instantly jumped to the worst case scenarios he could think of and quickly pulled Piri out of the ballroom.

“What’s wrong? What happened, is he hurt?”

Piri sniffed and began to lead Tristan through the castle toward one of the gardens.

“I-it’s all my fault,” she sobbed quietly. “I didn’t think much of it a-and left him alone for a bit. B-but when I came back to check on him…”

The air outside was thick and balmy, causing the large peony blossoms that filled the garden to emit an aromatic scent. They walked by moonlight to the center of the garden where Kyro sat on the ground, precariously held up by a stone bench. Empty jugs of wine lay strewn around him as he looked about hazily. Tristan was speechless, unable to comprehend how or why Kyro had ended up in such a state.

“Thank you, Piri,” he said quietly. “I’ll take care of him.”

Piri nodded, apologizing again before running back inside the castle. After she left, Tristan knelt beside Kyro, eyebrows knit together in concern.

“Kyro.” Tristan tried to get his attention, gently holding Kyro’s face so his dazed eyes could focus. “Did something happen? Are you alright?”

Kyro blinked a few times, wondering why he never noticed that Tristan had four eyes.

“You,” Kyro said, laughing derisively. He tried to shake off Tristan’s hands, grumbling in protest. Tristan opted to hold onto Kyro’s shoulders instead to keep him from falling over onto the ground.

“How did it go...did you find it?” Tristan lowered his voice, looking around to make sure the garden was empty.

“...Yes.” Kyro responded after a while. Tristan’s eyes grew wide, hope swelling within him.

“No,” Kyro said suddenly. He looked like he was thinking extremely hard before shaking his head and continuing, “I don’t know. What are you looking for?”

“You’re drunk,” Tristan said tersely. He knew these past two months had been indescribably difficult for Kyro, but the last thing he expected was to find him intoxicated and incoherent on a night as important as this one was. “Alright, I’m taking you back to your room.” Tristan stood up and grabbed Kyro’s arm, trying to pull him off the ground.

“No!” Kyro struggled out of Tristan’s grasp. “Go back...to your stupid dance…” He staggered to his feet, pushing Tristan away. Kyro began to stumble back towards the castle on unsteady legs. Tristan’s mouth was a tight line, his patience quickly diminishing. However, his concern for Kyro won out and all he could do was follow behind him, making sure he didn’t trip or otherwise hurt himself. Unfortunately, by the time they reached the stairs leading up to their wing Kyro had given up on his solo journey. Muttering to himself unintelligibly, he suddenly stopped in the middle of the stairwell and began to lay down.

“You’ve  _ got  _ to be kidding me,” Tristan grunted in exasperation as he tried to get Kyro to move again, feeling like an ant trying to move a boulder. With much difficulty, Tristan managed to wrap Kyro’s arm around his neck and shakily pushed the both of them up the remainder of the stairs, heavily relying on the support of the stone walls to prevent them from both tumbling down. Tristan felt like he had scaled a mountain by the time he kicked open Kyro’s room and all but threw him down face first onto the bed. He himself collapsed to the ground, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. After catching his breath, Tristan looked at the pitiful figure of Kyro and sighed. Using the remainder of his energy, Tristan yanked off his boots and rolled him over onto his back.  _ There, now if you suffocate that’s your own damn fault _ , he thought bitterly as he returned to his room.

Tristan was beyond exhausted from all the events of the day and proceeded to take a hot bath. He felt much better afterward, although he still had a headache. Dying to take his medicine and pass out, Tristan had just pulled on his sleeping pants when the connecting door slammed open. Kyro stood in the doorway, his vest missing and his shirt unbuttoned. Tristan was about to snap at him when Kyro tossed his shirt away and walked over.

“Quit playing around,” Tristan said in annoyance. “It’s late and I’m tir-”

He was cut off mid-sentence when Kyro scooped him up in both arms and carried him over to the bed. Tristan flailed wildly, smacking at Kyro’s arms, his face red with anger and embarrassment. Like he had done once before, Kyro dropped Tristan onto the bed. Only this time, he got in next to him and sat upright with his arms crossed. Confirming that Tristan was beside him, Kyro closed his eyes. Bewildered, Tristan tried to slowly climb out of bed, only to have Kyro grab his wrist with alarming speed.

“Sleep.”

Kyro’s single word was like a command, his eyes locked onto Tristan like a predator watching his prey. He only relaxed and closed his eyes again when Tristan moved back into place. Suddenly, Tristan had a stunning realization. As they hadn’t yet found out how to deal with his nightmares, he had gone back to taking the sleeping draft. As such, Kyro would usually stay by his side for most of the night while he slept. Even drunk out of his mind, apparently Kyro had unconsciously remembered their nightly routine. Tristan felt overwhelmed and flustered, a bit guilty at how he had reacted. Not wanting to deal with his turbulent feelings, he drank the bitter liquid and crawled under the sheets, the silken fabric cool on his bare skin as he drifted off to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Kyro woke up just before sunrise, his head ringing. He sat up gingerly, pinching the bridge of his nose, as he got his bearings. He could tell in the muted darkness that he was in Tristan’s room, but when he tried to recall what happened the night before, his mind recoiled in pain. It felt like someone was continuously striking his temples with a hammer. After a while of acclimating to the pain, he slowly sifted through his memories. Kyro remembered the party, sneaking into Darius’s office, watching Tristan dance with some girl, running into Piri, then not much after that.  _ The missing page! _ He finally focused on the most important thing from the previous night, quietly slipping out of bed to return to his room. Kyro found his vest crumpled on the floor and reached into the interior pocket, pulling out the folded piece of paper. The mysterious envelope had somehow made it to the floor a few paces away. He placed the envelope inside his desk drawer, ignoring it for the time being.

Kyro returned to Tristan’s room and resumed his previous position. The sun was beginning to rise, slowly dispelling the darkness. He looked over at Tristan, who was still fast asleep. He lay on his side, causing his hair to cascade and pool down his back like a river of gold. Resisting the urge to pick up some of the gilded strands to feel them between his fingers, Kyro unfolded the page and began to read.

Dream eaters functioned in the same manner as dream soothers - by injecting their aura into the target’s own, only activating when they began to dream. Where dream soothers’ auras had a calming and relaxing effect, dream eaters’ were exactly the opposite. Their aura would latch onto the target’s, strangling and constricting its natural flow. The target would eventually suffer from terrible nightmares and physical pain, some even descending into madness. This was, however, only from constant and prolonged exposure. Typically, the length of time even the strongest dream eater could inflict their aura upon someone after one instance of exposure was less than a week.  _ So how come Tristan has been stuck with this for years? _ Kyro wondered.

Because the destructive aura would be recognized as a threat, the host’s aura generally would try to attack itself in defense. This usually resolved the condition for most people, although they were left greatly weakened afterward. For those who weren’t strong enough to fend off the attack on their own, such as children or the elderly, extreme treatment would be to have a skilled aura manipulator cut out the offending pieces. However, the process could endanger the patient’s life if not done properly.

Kyro ran a hand through his hair, pondering what he had learned. When he had first examined Tristan’s aura, it was whole but silent and unmoving. As if it was being held back by something. Only when Kyro observed it again while Tristan was sleeping did he see it struggling to defend itself by self-destructing.  _ There must be some other factor affecting all this _ . Regardless, Kyro was relieved to learn that theoretically, Tristan could be cured. He was even quite confident in his own skills as an aura manipulator. The most important part would come down to Tristan himself - given how deeply rooted the poisonous aura seemed to be, if he didn’t strengthen his own aura and body, he wouldn’t survive the extraction process. Kyro once again looked over in Tristan’s direction and sighed, fully aware of just how weak he was. Although technically doable, it wasn’t going to be easy.

Tristan finally began to wake up as thick sunbeams filtered into the room. He slowly pushed himself up and rubbed his eyes sleepily. Kyro was in deep thought, sitting cross-legged on the bed not too far from him as the sunlight created a halo around his head.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, jolting Kyro out of his contemplation.

“Like I got trampled by a horse.” Kyro turned to face him then quickly looked away, feeling inexplicably shy.  _ Why the hell isn’t he wearing a shirt? _ he panicked. Tristan ignored Kyro’s odd reaction, finally noticing the piece of paper that had fallen on his lap.

“You did get it!” Tristan exclaimed, suddenly fully awake from excitement. “You seriously are amazing, I was so worried for you the entire time.” He climbed over the rumpled bed sheets and scooted next to Kyro, reaching for the page. In a flurry of motion, Kyro jumped up from the bed, passing the paper off to Tristan like it was on fire.

“I think I’m going to puke,” he said before running into his room. Kyro locked the door behind him and laid on the cool ground, his heart beating abnormally fast. He knocked his head against the floor several times.  _ What is wrong with me _ , he shuddered. After taking his time washing up and getting ready, Kyro finally returned to Tristan’s suite for breakfast. Likewise, Tristan was ready as well and much to Kyro’s relief, fully clothed as he usually was.

They discussed Kyro’s stealth mission the other night over their meal, Tristan silent in awe and praise. He wasn’t sure whether or not to be condoning Kyro’s criminal tendencies, but in this situation his skills were absolutely necessary. Then the topic shifted to the contents of the missing page and the truth about Tristan’s condition. Kyro’s face eventually grew serious as he explained what it meant for him.

“As it stands right now, there’s no way you’d survive the treatment,” he began solemnly. “Your aura has been crippled by this thing for so long, plus you’ve been drugging yourself for years. And to top it all off, you’re a shut-in prince who’s probably never done any real physical work in your life.”

Tristan flinched at each of Kyro’s points. He couldn’t deny any of them, especially the last one.

“But,” Kyro continued. “It’s not impossible.” He undid the top buttons of his shirt and took off the necklace Tristan had always seen him wear. Kyro held it out in front of him, the pendant cupped in his outstretched hand.

“Is that...soulstone?” Tristan asked. He’d had his suspicions but never got around to asking.

“Yes, if you wear it regularly it will nourish and strengthen your aura.”

“Thank you, Kyro, I really appreciate it.” Tristan could tell just from watching Kyro that the necklace was incredibly important to him. Just as he was about to reach out to take it, Kyro quickly drew his hand back.

“There’s a catch,” he said slowly. “You’re going to have to train with me.”

Tristan paled and his mouth went dry - he knew first hand how aggressive and merciless Kyro could be. If Tristan wasn’t killed by his illness, training under Kyro’s instruction surely would.

***

At first, things were not nearly as horrible as Tristan thought it would be. Kyro was a thorough and precise teacher when it came to physical training, starting him off with basic flexibility, endurance, and strength exercises to build his foundation. Although he was always extremely tired after their daily sessions, Tristan actually felt quite good. Every morning for two weeks they would wake up just before dawn to train for several hours in the open aired courtyard connected to Tristan’s suite. It wasn’t until Kyro was satisfied with Tristan’s newly energized body that things took a turn for the worst. After finishing their routine one morning, Kyro surprised Tristan by altering their schedule.

“Starting from today, we’ll be training in the evening as well.”

Tristan looked at him in surprise but nodded feeling perturbed, dreading what else Kyro was planning for him. As it turned out, his instinctual sense of foreboding was correct. That night, they once again met out in the small courtyard. The moon was steadily making its ascent up the inky night sky, bathing the quiet scene in an eerie glow. Kyro stood firmly in front of him, his hands behind his back.

“Take off your shirt,” he ordered. Tristan flushed slightly, muttering ‘harassment’ under his breath but did as he told. The summer air was warm on his skin, so he didn’t feel unpleasant standing outside barefoot, in only a pair of loose breeches and the soulstone pendant tied tightly around his neck shimmering under the moonlight. It was Kyro’s presence and stern face that made him the most uncomfortable. Kyro was thankful for the cover of darkness and the fact that they were standing far enough apart, otherwise Tristan would notice just how restless he was. Given Kyro’s recent state of agitation whenever it came to the other, the circumstances of the next part of their training regimen were less than ideal. However, it was how Kyro had trained once upon a time, and he couldn’t dismiss its effectiveness.

A crack broke through the silence of the night as Kyro suddenly struck at Tristan with the wooden staff he had been holding behind his back. Tristan staggered backward, clutching his forearm where it stung.

“What the hell was that for!” he shouted, not even having seen Kyro’s movements.

“I didn’t even hit you that hard,” Kyro snorted. He held the staff out at his side, looking rather menacing. “Do whatever you have to protect yourself. Run, dodge, block,  _ whatever  _ is necessary.” He hit Tristan a few more times for emphasis. Tristan cried out at each blow, trying to avoid the next one.

“You’re mental,” he said through gritted teeth, managing to divert one swing of the staff with his hand, only for Kyro to swing it back and catch his legs, knocking him to the ground.

“And you’re dead if you don’t get up.”

Kyro didn’t want to hurt him; in fact, seeing Tristan’s innocent eyes fill with tears and anger made Kyro want to hold him in his arms and never let go. But he steeled his heart, knowing that Tristan’s survival was paramount. He continued to assail him until the moon was high above their heads and Tristan eventually collapsed on the soft grass, unable to go on. He was bruised and sore all over to the point where blocking hurt just as much as getting hit, so he exhausted himself trying to avoid Kyro’s blows.

“I see, so you’ve finally decided to kill me after all,” he groaned in pain, staring up at the sky.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Kyro said. “Back in Rien, children half your size would put up a better fight.” He stood over him and extended a hand, helping Tristan to his feet.

“Well excuse me for being worse than a child,” he muttered as they went back inside.

Having gingerly cleaned himself up, Tristan fell into bed, aching all over. Kyro entered the room not long after, his thick, dark hair still damp from his shower. He tossed a small container at Tristan, aiming it at his feet, before sitting down next to him.

“Rub this into your arms and legs, I requested it in advance from the castle apothecary. It’s a balm that will relax and soothe the muscles.” Kyro picked up the book he had left on the bedside table from the night before, searching the pages for where he had stopped reading. While Tieria had very few aura users, the royal library had no lack of books on the subject. Kyro had returned to a lesser state of his previous research frenzy, reading up on all matters pertaining to aura manipulation as he could - he refused to leave anything up to chance.

Tristan sat up and grabbed the jar, thanking Kyro as he rolled up his sleeves and pants to apply the slightly tacky mixture to his skin. He let out a deep sigh of contentment as it soaked in, instantly loosening and soothing his tense muscles.

“Could you put some on my back, please?” Tristan asked Kyro, offering him the jar. Kyro froze for a moment before nodding and taking the container in his hand. Tristan laid down and rolled onto his stomach, turning his face to the side with his eyes closed, his cheek on top of his hands. Kyro swallowed visibly as he slowly pushed up Tristan’s shirt, exposing his small and pale back that was now marred by the appearance of ugly bruises. Taking in the sight, Kyro’s breath hitched, scolding himself for being too heavy handed. He rubbed the balm between his palms to heat it up before gently working it into Tristan’s back. Tristan grimaced at first, sensitive to the pressure from Kyro’s hands, but eventually exhaled in relief as its effects began to kick in.

Kyro massaged Tristan’s back for some time, admittedly enjoying the feel of his smooth and supple skin, until Tristan fell asleep, either from the sleeping draft or his exhaustion. Kyro carefully turned him over and tucked the bed sheets around him. After staring at Tristan’s sleeping face for some time, he returned to his book, resolute in his decision to not let Tristan suffer alone.

The next couple of days proceeded similarly, from morning exercises to Tristan getting hounded by Kyro’s vicious and unrelenting, but slightly more restrained, attacks. It wasn’t until the third night that Tristan, in a bout of frustration and rage, launched himself with a yell at Kyro after taking several particularly nasty blows. Although he didn’t use that much force, the tackle knocked both of them to the ground and Tristan ended up sprawled on top of Kyro. He coughed from the impact, but began laughing, unnerving Tristan. Unsure of how to feel at what he thought was more ridicule, Tristan sat up and slammed his fists into Kyro’s chest.

“Good!” Kyro grunted as he took the hits, eyes bright.

After throwing his weight into several more hits Tristan’s energy was drained and he stopped punching, tired and spent. Kyro was still grinning beneath him, although his chest actually hurt quite a bit.

“What...what’s so funny?” Tristan asked, trying to breathe normally again.

“You...finally fought back,” Kyro responded breathlessly. “I thought you were never going to, now we can finally move on.”

Tristan looked down at Kyro like he was insane.

“You...you said-”

“I said,  _ protect yourself _ . By  _ any  _ means necessary.” Kyro sat up suddenly, their faces mere inches apart. He stared intently into Tristan’s eyes before continuing in a harsh voice, “Sometimes, the only way to defend yourself is by killing your attacker before they kill you. Which means you need to learn how to fight just as much as defend.”

Tristan scrambled to his feet, their close proximity making his stomach twist awkwardly. He turned around, hoping to hide his face which he could feel was heating up.

“I-I’m a pacifist, at the end of the day. Can we at least focus on self-defense first?”

Kyro climbed to his feet and sighed.

“Fine, but you’re going to have to come to terms with it sooner or later. When you’re fighting for your life...it’s you or them. And any lenience or mercy will result in you losing.” Kyro felt a wave of ice wash over him as the memory of killing the Tierian soldiers after witnessing Arlon’s murder appeared in his mind. He clenched his fist to control the trembling of his hand before pushing past Tristan and heading back inside.

The next day Kyro began properly teaching Tristan the basics of self-defense and hand to hand combat, for Tristan was probably more prone to hurting himself than others if he was given a weapon. In theory, he was a quick study, grasping the intention and logic behind the motions. But in practice, Tristan struggled to break strangleholds or incapacitate Kyro when under attack. Even though Kyro had ditched the wooden staff, Tristan still suffered from wrenched arms and bruises on his back from being thrown down.

“Don’t people usually wear protective gear or at  _ least  _ a shirt when getting beaten up,” Tristan complained, rubbing his aching body.

“Training with armor gives you a false sense of security,” Kyro explained. “Every hit your body remembers will be one less you take in the future.” Kyro knew having an emotional drive or just being in the proper mental state was a huge part of being successful in fighting, but no matter what Tristan couldn’t seem to work up the right nerve. He was afraid that when it came down to it, Tristan wouldn’t raise his hand against someone, even with his own life on the line. For that reason Kyro continued to push him during their sessions, hoping that at the very least if Tristan got mad he might fight back.

***

By the end of the month Tristan had finally gotten proficient in self-defense techniques but still refused to actively go on the offensive. Kyro wasn’t fully satisfied, but at least it was something. Plus, all the regular training on top of their sparring had strengthened Tristan’s body considerably. Kyro figured it would soon be time to attempt removing the parasitic aura. He was still considering several things in his head when Tristan waved his hand in front of his face, trying to get his attention.

“Did you hear anything I just said?” he asked.

“Sorry, you know how I tune out utterly boring things,” Kyro joked in response. “Once more, please?”

Tristan rolled his eyes but complied.

“Every three months I have to spend a day granting an audience to anyone in the kingdom who wishes to address any kind of grievance or other topic. Tomorrow is the last day of the month, so I’ll be holding the public hearing session then. I’m sure you can find ways to entertain yourself that don’t involve giving me a headache, yes?”

Kyro’s interest was piqued since aside from the elite upper class of Lorelai, he hadn’t interacted with many of Tieria’s regular citizens.

“Can I watch?”

Tristan raised an eyebrow, skeptical of Kyro’s intentions.

“It’s going to be extremely boring, I bet you won’t even last 5 people,” Tristan said.

“Fuck you, I bet I can last the whole day,” Kyro scoffed.

“Good luck,” Tristan shrugged. “Oh, and you’ll have to be dressed formally.”

Kyro’s confidence immediately deflated, cursing his prideful nature.

The next day rolled around and Kyro was leaning irritably against one of the stone pillars that lined the castle throne room, tugging at the fabric encircling his throat. He was forced into a black suit with gold trimmings, the double breasted jacket’s high collar tight around his neck. It was almost too much for him to bear in the summer heat. Tristan was dressed similarly in a white suit, sitting up straight in the throne. His golden crown shone upon his head, blending in and making the jewels appear as if they were woven directly into his hair. For all the time they had been stuck there, Tristan looked as immaculate as he had at the beginning. They had already seen hundreds of people come and go and Kyro was about to lose his mind.

The people of Tieria at least seemed to be decently well treated. Most of them were of middle class but some rural farmers or villagers from farther out in the kingdom did make an appearance. Their problems were primarily low-scale, ranging from civil disputes to requests for stronger border patrols - one woman even came to ask Tristan to bless her newborn child. Kyro was about to call it quits when a travel-worn middle aged man approached the throne. He smiled paternally and stated his reason for visiting.

“Your Highness,” he began in a husky voice. “I am but a simple farmer who has come here today with a selfish request. I have a son, who like you will be twenty this year, if only he didn’t leave us prematurely…” He paused, choking up with tears. “My family is not rich but has one heirloom to pass down, a single gold ring. I cannot bear to look upon it anymore as I have no one to give it to...Please do this childless father a kindness and allow me to personally gift it to you.” The man slowly opened a pouch at his side, withdrawing a golden ring. He held it outstretched in the palm of his weathered hand. Tristan’s expression softened, heart moved by the man’s loss.

“Of course, it would be my honor,” he said kindly, motioning for his guards to hold their places. Tristan got up from the throne and made his way down the dais steps, standing before the man. Kyro had been merely observing from the sidelines when his eyes widened in alarm - he could feel the man gathering a dangerous amount of aura in his other hand. Kyro ran to Tristan’s side in the blink of an eye, grabbing his hand protectively and focusing his own aura. At the same time the man unleashed his attack toward Tristan, Kyro blocked it with an equal amount of strength. The man barely had time to scream before his own attack was reflected, rebounding in his face. The force of the concentrated aura ripped him apart, effectively causing his body to explode. Kyro and Tristan were sprayed in a torrent of blood and bits of viscera, the metallic tang of iron quickly permeating the room. The guards on duty scrambled to surround them while servants rushed to clean up the horrifying remains which were just a pair of legs from the knee down, exposed bone peeking out between flesh and arteries still squirting blood. Screaming onlookers were hastily chased out of the room.

“Are you hurt?” Kyro asked, grabbing Tristan by the shoulders and examining him all over. He thought he saw a segment of a finger in Tristan’s hair. Blood ran down Tristan’s face in small rivulets, his expression one of utter shock.

“I-I...I think I’m going to faint,” Tristan whispered before falling into Kyro’s arms, unconscious.

When Tristan awoke, he was in his bed, feeling damp from lying in his own wet hair.

“Tristan!” Kyro exclaimed softly, nerves calming now that the other had finally woken up. “How are you feeling?” He had been keeping vigil by Tristan’s side, wanting to be there as soon as he came to. Tristan slowly sat up and blinked, looking down at his usual sleeping attire.

“My clothes?”

“I...ah...changed them for you, since...you know.” Kyro hoped Tristan wasn’t too fond of the suit he had been wearing. “And uh, I cleaned you up as best as possible...but you definitely want to take an actual bath. Maybe three. I did wash your hair though,” Kyro mumbled. After removing his outer clothing Kyro had carefully wiped away the dried layer of blood and unidentifiable tissue from Tristan’s body, refusing to let Cytus or anyone else touch him. Tristan remained still in stunned silence, not even seeming to register the fact that he had been manhandled while unconscious, until belated tears leaked from his eyes from his brain slowly processing the trauma.

“Hey, you’re safe now, everything will be okay,” Kyro soothed, gently pulling Tristan into his arms, stroking his head. However, neither of them really believed that to be true. Kyro felt like every moment away from Tristan’s side in the future would be spent in anxiety.

“When is it going to end?” Tristan cried softly, sick of constantly living in fear for his life. It had only been two months since the first assassination attempt, and there was still half a year to go until his birthday. And what was to stop Darius even after his coronation? The truth was nothing would end until his uncle was restrained for good. Tristan felt like he was chained to weights that were constantly dragging him down. After crying out all his tears, he broke away from Kyro to go bathe.

The bathroom was still wet from when it was last used not too long ago. Tristan turned several knobs to begin filling the bathing pool with steaming water - it was needlessly large for one person and built directly into the ground, tiled in the pattern of swirling blue and green waves. He stripped and stepped inside once it was full enough, pale skin quickly burning pink from the heat. Tristan scrubbed at his skin furiously, feeling like he would never be rid of the sensation of the sticky blood.  _ If Kyro was even a second too late… _ He shuddered at the thought, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. Tristan now owed multiple lifetimes to Kyro; he knew he would have been dead several times over by now if it weren’t for him. More tears dropped into the soapy water as he soaked until his fingers became wrinkled. Only then did he emerge, drying off before putting on a fresh set of clothes.

Kyro was still waiting in the room when Tristan got back. They exchanged despondent looks as Tristan climbed into bed. After a while of sitting in mutual silence, Kyro spoke.

“Tristan,” he began quietly. “I know the timing is...far from ideal, but we need to fix your aura as soon as you’re up for it. Your body should be strong enough to handle the stress.”

Tristan nodded lifelessly, agreeing with Kyro’s practical assessment even if he wasn’t emotionally ready for it. Now more than ever they needed to double down on eradicating any weaknesses or vulnerabilities Tristan had.

“I’ll be fine later, I just need some time to…” he waved his hands listlessly in front of him, unable to come up with words to express how he felt at that moment. Kyro nodded in understanding. He started to get up from the bed to leave the room when Tristan grabbed his hand in panic.

“Can...can you stay, please?” he asked.

Kyro could see the fear and distress in the depths of his eyes.

“Of course,” he said gently.

Kyro hadn’t planned on going far but thought Tristan could use some space, so he was surprised but not unhappy at the request. He returned to his sitting position as Tristan laid down, curling into a ball while still clutching Kyro’s hand. Tristan eventually closed his eyes, not sleeping but withdrawing into the recesses of his mind.

The next couple of days were thankfully quiet as they struggled to reclaim some sense of normalcy. The incident of the assassin was brought up at the Grand Council meeting, but no one had any answers as to who he was or what his motives were. Tristan was deathly silent as some members discussed thorough screenings as preventative measures in the future while others wanted to cancel the public audience days for good. He was never sure whom he could trust among the council members, but his uncle’s feigned concern was what made his skin crawl the most.

“I was so worried when I heard what happened,” Darius said. “It’s a good thing your...consort was there to save the day. He seems to be a man of many talents, no?”

“Yes. I’m lucky to have him by my side,” Tristan responded briefly, avoiding eye contact with his uncle. A malicious glint flickered across Darius’s eyes as he contemplated Kyro’s existence, still unsure of the foreigner’s role in his thwarted schemes. Either way, Darius made a mental note to pay more attention to the young man who clung to his nephew like a shadow.


	10. Chapter 10

The following day Tristan finally gave Kyro the green light over lunch.

“I think I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” he sighed.

Putting it off any longer wasn’t going to do him any good. Kyro nodded with a grimace on his face, knowing they were in for a long and most probably for Tristan, painful, night.

“I’ll prepare some things for tonight, then.”

Based on all he had researched about the removal of parasitic auras coupled with the fact that Tristan had been afflicted for years, Kyro’s heart was in turmoil. Whenever he saw him hurting it was as if the pain was his own. He clenched his fists, determined to make sure Tristan’s suffering wasn’t for nothing.

Tristan’s stomach twisted into a ball of anxiety and dread as he paced circles in his room that night, waiting for Kyro. When he finally showed up, it was already quite late into the night.

“Sorry, I just needed to check my notes one final time,” Kyro said as he entered the room. Tristan nodded, appreciating his diligence. Then Tristan’s eyes wandered to the items Kyro had brought with him, bringing him even more unease.

“Is...is that really necessary?” he gulped, focusing on the length of rope Kyro was carrying.

“The previous time...if I didn’t restrain you, you would have taken my eye out. I can’t hold you down while concentrating.” Kyro shook his head sadly. “I stole some soft washcloths to protect your skin,” he continued, cataloging the other things in his hands, “And this tea is supposed to have a calming and tranquilizing effect. You need to fall asleep but not be comatose, so we can’t use your medicine.”

“And the bear?”

“Ah...you should have seen Piri’s face when I asked her for a small stuffed doll. I figured I’d shove it in your mouth if you started screaming.”

Tristan looked like he was torn between puking and punching Kyro in the chest. He ended up going with the latter.

“It was a joke!” Kyro defended himself hastily. “When one of my younger brothers had nightmares, he got better after sleeping with a stuffed animal. I don’t know...I just thought maybe it would bring you some comfort.” Kyro grimaced, realizing how stupid he sounded, but he was grasping at straws. Tristan smiled slightly at Kyro’s clumsy but thoughtful gesture, until his next words wiped it away.

“ _ This _ is what we’ll use to stop your screaming.” Kyro held up a tight roll of fabric tied at both ends. Tristan punched Kyro again before stomping over to the bed.

After several minutes of awkwardly tying each of Tristan’s limbs to one of the bedposts, it was almost time to begin. Tristan had drank the tea just before, and although quite uncomfortable, was starting to feel sleepy. Kyro had placed the bear next to his head on the pillow, as if to keep watch over Tristan.

“Kyro…” Tristan mumbled sleepily.

“Yes, I’m here,” Kyro murmured in response.

“...scared.” His lavender eyes were unfocused, searching around desperately for Kyro’s face.

Kyro, who was kneeling beside him on the bed, reached over to slowly stroke his head.

“It’s ok, it’ll be over before you know it.”

Tristan’s breathing eventually slowed to an even pace as he fell into a deep sleep. Unlike last time, Kyro was wide awake, watching Tristan for the slightest change in condition. He didn’t have to wait too long before the nightmares began. Small whimpers gradually grew in intensity as Tristan began to struggle against the ropes. Thankfully, the restraints held tight. Kyro carefully lodged the roll of cloth in his mouth, muffling his cries. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and placed his hands on Tristan’s abdomen, reaching out with his aura.

Like before, Tristan’s aura was a churning hurricane. Immersing himself in it felt like being battered around by a vicious storm. Upon closer inspection, Kyro could faintly make out the duality within Tristan’s aura. It was like a blinding white wave, beating against parts of itself that were stained a slightly darker silver. Kyro grit his teeth in realization - if Tristan’s own aura was like a thick blanket that enveloped him, the toxic one had embedded itself under several layers, weaving itself in and out until they were nearly one and the same. He would have to be extremely careful not to damage Tristan while cutting out the other. Kyro slowly began the rigorous process of slicing and tugging bits and pieces of the offender, unraveling the very fabric of Tristan’s aura.

All Tristan could feel was pain. He felt like his body was on fire while simultaneously being stabbed by needles. The worst part was that he couldn’t move for some reason, paralyzed and crippled by fear. He lost track of himself as he descended into madness, blurry visions assaulting his mind. Tristan was a small child again, barely as tall as a table. He recognized the room he stood in - it was made of dark stone and dimly lit by a single lamp. The air was musty and stale. It was the royal mausoleum, deep under the castle. Before him were two large stone tombs, but the lids were off and they were empty inside. A sense of panic welled up in him as he turned around and screamed. The decomposing corpses of his parents grabbed his arms and legs as he struggled wildly to get free of their cold and bony grasp. His mother shoved him inside one of the coffins while his father slowly pushed the lid back on top. Their skeletal and rotting faces were the last things he saw while the maddening scrape of stone on stone were the last sounds he heard before being enveloped in darkness. Tristan screamed as hot tears poured down his cheeks, his throat was raw, pounding at the rock until his fists were torn and bloody. Suddenly, he felt the stone beneath him give way as he fell into nothingness.

The next moment he was standing in a deserted hallway. He was back at the castle, the white stones cold and harsh under moonlight that seemed to distort his surroundings. Tristan was slightly older by a few years and he walked quietly down the hall. He seemed to walk for an eternity, wondering if he was actually going in circles, when he saw a faint glow off in the distance. He began running toward it, his childish legs only managing small steps. A dark red wooden door appeared before him, identical to the one from his uncle’s office. The light he had seen earlier came from underneath it. Tristan felt an intense wave of vertigo as the door seemed to grow before his eyes, stretching upward until it was as tall as a mountain. However, this enlarged the gap under the door, allowing him to crawl inside. Everything was of gigantic proportions, including a replica of the stately desk with his uncle sitting behind it. He was surrounded by equally tall figures, shadowy and demonic, their eyes glowing bright red. They made an unsettling rattling sound as his uncle spoke in a cruel whisper that was so loud it filled Tristan’s head.

_...My nephew… _

_...That useless boy is good for nothing… _

_...Shouldn’t even have been born… _

_...How hard can it be to kill a child… _

All at once the heads of the formless creatures snapped to where Tristan stood, peering down at him like an ant inside a glass jar. He screamed in terror as they began to descend upon him, turning to crawl back under the crack of the door. Tristan ran as fast as he could down the unending hall, hearing the door open behind him. The haunting yellow light from the study sent their shadows surging down the corridor, twisting and climbing over each other as they screeched sinisterly. His lungs burned and his legs ached from running until he was alone again. This time he was his present nineteen year-old self, standing in the empty throne room. Tristan looked around nervously, his heart beating fast. He concluded there truly was no one with him when he felt a light pressure on his shoulder. Looking down at the white fabric of his suit, there was a small drop of red. Another drop fell. He began to be pelted by drops of liquid falling from above, quickly dyeing his clothes a bright crimson. Tristan looked up and staggered backward in horror, crying out in fright. A massive skeleton that spanned the length of the entire throne room was suspended from the ceiling, its muscles and organs beginning to liquify and fall off the bones. Bloodshot eyeballs turned in the skull’s sockets as it let out a disturbing laugh that filled the air. A downpour of blood drenched him and the room began to flood. Tristan was weighed down by the thick fluid, struggling to keep his head above the pool of blood. When his strength finally failed him, he was pulled under into a red abyss. His mouth and lungs instantly filled with the viscous liquid he was suspended in, choking and suffocating. He felt like he was going to burst from the pressure, unable to draw breath. Finally, when he thought he couldn’t take the pain any longer, the vision of red disappeared.

Tristan blinked in confusion. He could breathe again, not a drop of blood to be seen.

“Your Majesty, are you alright?”

Tristan turned to see Cytus’s concerned but smiling face. He looked down at his clothes, which were lavish and extravagant, made of gold brocade and decorated with sparkling jewels. A thick velvet cloak with a pure white fur trim was draped over his shoulders while a heavy crown sat upon his head.

“I’m fine Cytus, thank you.” Tristan was sitting upon his throne triumphantly, the now extravagantly decorated throne room full of cheering and clapping people. He smiled brilliantly, waving at the crowd who chanted his name.

“Long live King Tristan!” they called over and over.

Tristan felt elated, like nothing could go wrong, when he spotted a dark figure at the very back of the great hall. He couldn’t make out the person’s blurry face, but when they started to turn and walk toward the exit, Tristan felt a crushing sense of panic.

“Wait!” he shouted, throwing off the heavy cape and crown as he jumped down the dais steps. Tristan began to push through the sea of people, eyes locked on the retreating figure.

“Don’t leave me! Please, don’t go!”

Tears flowed as he shoved at the brightly dressed people around him, who were now viciously pulling him back. Hundreds of claw-like hands tore at his hair and clothes, scratching his skin. Their faces were twisted in warped grins, lips pulled back too far, exposing razor sharp teeth. Tristan fought through the endless crowd as the figure got farther and farther away. The double doors opened to a blinding whiteness that began to envelop the person he was desperately reaching for. Tristan opened his mouth to scream a name but nothing came out. He felt his entire existence shattering as the figure was completely swallowed up by the light, disappearing from his sight.

Tristan woke with a start, the scream still stuck in his throat. His clothes were soaked in sweat and he was breathing hard, heart pounding erratically. His eyes darted around rapidly, the world blurry and indistinct. Tristan couldn’t hear anything except a muted ringing in his ears. Slowly his surroundings became more defined as he could vaguely make out the sound of someone shouting.

“...stan!”

His chest was tight, a sharp pain stabbing through him, but his body felt surprisingly light. He just didn’t have the energy to move.

“Tristan!”

A familiar voice finally reached his ears as Tristan blinked, looking up at the face above him that came into focus bit by bit. Kyro had him laying across his lap, a warm hand supporting the back of his head.

“Why...are you crying?” Tristan asked slowly, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. He struggled to raise one hand to the side of Kyro’s face, feeling the wet tears. Kyro laughed hysterically, using his free hand to mirror the movement, cupping Tristan’s cheek.

“Stupid…” Kyro said softly. “You’re crying too.”

The sky was just beginning to lighten, dawn breaking through the clouds. Kyro had stayed up all night extracting the dream eater’s aura from Tristan; heavy bags hung beneath his eyes and his skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat. The lengthy and complicated procedure exhausted him to the point of wanting to pass out, but when he had finished he was confronted by a reality he refused to accept.

Throughout the entire process Tristan was in various states of visible discomfort, crying or trying to break free from his bindings. But once Kyro had confirmed the last vestiges of the foreign aura were removed, Tristan became still. He was barely breathing when Kyro untied him, his body feeling cold and lifeless. Kyro couldn’t tell him how scared and helpless he felt as he held Tristan in his arms, unsure if he would open his eyes again. So he simply cried and embraced him tighter, tears falling into the locks of golden hair.

Kyro had eventually collapsed onto his side, falling asleep with Tristan still in his arms as his fatigue finally claimed him. Tristan was curled up against Kyro’s body, completely depleted of energy and feeling like a barren husk, but his mind was still spinning. His nightmares had cut deep into his subconscious, clawing at his worst fears and insecurities. The last one in particular left him especially empty and drained. He ached over a realization he had been pushing away all this time, but burying it only made it sprout roots and grow into a monstrous weed that strangled his heart. The more he tried to hack away at it, the tighter its hold became. One day the only way to deal with his repressed fear would be to light it all on fire, burning himself and anyone who got too close. Body and mind in shambles, Tristan drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

They slept until mid-morning, neither of them moving an inch. Kyro woke first, eyes red and puffy not only from crying but from the lack of sleep. He carefully slid his arm out from under Tristan and rearranged the blankets around him. Kyro watched Tristan’s chest rise and fall, only returning to his room after he was convinced that the other was breathing normally. He took a hot shower, letting the burning water wash away the stress and fear from the night before. Kyro had never felt more relief in his life than he did when Tristan had opened his eyes, but the moments just before nearly broke him completely. He had spent the last few months slowly and laboriously piecing himself back together but the fix was tenuous at best. Kyro had lost too many people he cared about already - he didn’t think he could survive losing anyone again.

After roughly drying himself off, he went back to Tristan’s room to find him just beginning to wake.

“Hey,” Kyro said softly, returning to Tristan’s side. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got trampled by a horse.”

Kyro smiled, glad he was feeling well enough to crack jokes.

“I seriously...can barely move,” Tristan grunted, trying to push himself up but failing. Kyro leaned forward to support his back with one arm, letting Tristan grab onto his other as he was lifted up into a sitting position. “But I feel oddly better, too. Like...a weight that was previously holding me back has disappeared.”

“That’s a good sign but your aura is extremely weak right now and needs time to heal. I’m going to tell Cytus you’re sick in bed for the next few days, at the very least.”

Tristan nodded. Although he had been wearing Kyro’s soulstone, it wasn’t a miracle worker. Only time would be able to fill the jagged holes left in his aura.

“Can you help me to the bathroom, first?”

Kyro offered to carry him completely, but Tristan was determined to walk somewhat on his own two feet. So they slowly shuffled from the bed to the washroom.

“Do you need me to-”

“No,” Tristan cut off Kyro rather brusquely. “No...thank you,” he amended. Kyro nodded without a word and left to give Tristan privacy and space to breathe. He felt a little apprehension in the pit of his stomach, but dismissed Tristan’s standoffishness as near-death experience prickliness.

After Kyro left, he managed to start filling the bathing pool but struggled for quite some time to peel off his clothes. Eventually he was able to crawl into the hot water and start soaking his weakened body. Tristan sighed, feeling guilty about his conflicted feelings. He was starting to feel suffocated whenever Kyro was around, treating him so preciously. Not because he didn’t like it, but just the opposite. Kyro’s existence in his life was growing too large - so large that he might fall apart without him. Tristan had already felt a taste of how he would feel if Kyro left him, and by his count, ‘if’ was really a ‘when.’ It was only a matter of time before Tristan was crowned and could free Rien. Ultimately, Kyro would return to his home to rebuild the life he was supposed to have. And at the very least, no matter how selfishly Tristan wanted to act, he owed him that peaceful future.

When he felt clean enough, Tristan shakily got out of the water and clumsily dried himself off. Too tired to fight with clothing, he wrapped a dry towel around himself and stumbled back to bed. Tristan quickly fell asleep again, almost as if his body was forcing him to shut down in order to heal.

Kyro returned shortly thereafter with a platter of food in hand, nearly dropping it when he walked in the room. He set the tray down on a small corner table before rushing over to readjust the carelessly sleeping Tristan. Kyro found a second, larger towel to place over Tristan’s half naked body before pulling the bed sheets over him. He was no stranger to nudity, no matter the context, but for some reason he felt exceptionally reserved when it came to Tristan. He coughed awkwardly to himself, trying to dispel the heat creeping up his neck.

Tristan spent the next few days diligently in bed, eating whatever food Kyro brought him and doing some light exercises or stretches when he had the energy to spare. Kyro was a bit perplexed over Tristan’s noticeably aloof and cool attitude toward him, but for the moment he was just glad to see his aura growing a little stronger with each passing day. Even just watching him napping during the middle of the day or getting a full night’s sleep without waking once was enough to make his heart swell with happiness.

Trying to keep himself and his turbulent thoughts occupied, Tristan resumed writing in his journal and, when he had the stamina to, started to paint again. It had been an exceptionally long amount of time since he engaged in the latter activity, but it felt good to once more hold a paintbrush in his hand. He painted several rough landscapes to warm-up, moving on to still life studies of whatever he found lying around his bedroom. Kyro would sometimes watch him from various parts of the room, constantly checking on him out of the corner of his eye. The incessant weight from his stare eventually got to him and Tristan unconsciously began to paint Kyro. He struggled with his brush strokes, determined to get the strong angle of his jaw and the confident glint in his eyes just right. Kyro somehow ended up in the majority of his paintings, even if it was an imagined scene. Tristan locked the drawings away, aggravated over how conscious he still was of him. He had been doing his best to distance himself from Kyro, but it was very difficult when Kyro insisted on staying by his side and taking care of him.

One afternoon when Kyro had stepped out to get their lunch, Tristan was emptying his anguished thoughts into the pages of his journal in a rare moment of peace and solitude. The ink in his pen happened to run dry, so he irritably got out of bed to rummage around for a replacement. Unable to find one in his messy writing desk or any of his disorganized storage chests, he crept into Kyro’s room to see if he had any laying around. Tristan realized it was actually his first time in the other’s room, although this wasn’t a huge surprise since Kyro was the one always intruding into his. The room, similar in layout and design but smaller than his own, was remarkably clean and well organized. There were various personal effects lying around that showed signs of someone living there, such as remnants of the books he researched to cure Tristan or a pair of boots by the foot of his bed, but otherwise it was a far cry from the chaotic clutter of his own room.

Tristan quietly stepped inside, suddenly feeling a bit ashamed, like any  _ normal  _ person would, to enter Kyro’s room without permission. He hurried over to the writing desk and began searching around for a pen. Not finding any at first glance, he pulled open the large drawer in the front and froze. The only thing inside was a large, aged envelope marked with the kingdom of Versal’s emblem.  _ Where did this come from? _ he thought, eyebrows furrowing. Tristan took it without thinking and returned to his room to read its contents.

***

“Sorry for the wait, they didn’t have any honeyed biscuits but I know they’re your favorite so I asked Piri to bake a small batch-” Kyro backed into the room, a silver tray in each hand. He paused upon turning around and finding no one in sight. “Tristan?” he called, sending out his aura to check the bathroom and connecting study. With a loud crash, he dropped both trays to the ground, food spilling everywhere. Kyro’s heart sped up as his eyes darted around wildly for Tristan was nowhere to be found.

After confirming he was indeed not inside his suite, Kyro ran out to search the rest of the castle. He didn’t tell anyone what, or rather whom, he was looking for, since there was no need to alert everyone that their crown prince had disappeared.  _ Maybe he just needed some fresh air and wanted to stretch his legs _ , Kyro thought optimistically. He checked each of the main floors systematically, combing the entirety of the castle by spreading his aura out as far as he could push it. When he couldn’t find him inside, he ran a wide circuit around the castle grounds, breathless and slick with sweat.  _ Where the fuck are you? _ He pulled his hands through his hair in frustration. Kyro’s mind was at its breaking point, desperately trying to catch any trail of Tristan’s aura. He decided to check the suite one last time before gathering the nerve to casually ask Cytus or Piri if they had seen Tristan at all.

Kyro returned to a still empty bedroom, not a single soul having passed through. He slammed the door to the empty courtyard in anger after having peeked outside before freezing. The other side of the courtyard was connected to one of four large towers in each corner of the castle’s upper tier. Kyro had never gone up them before nor had he ever paid them much attention. He channeled his aura upwards instead of out to the side, hoping he could reach the top.  _ There you are! _ Kyro finally felt the familiar, but still weak, pulse of Tristan’s aura at the highest floor. Flooded with relief, he crossed the courtyard and began to ascend the spiraling stairs.

He climbed for what felt like ages until he finally reached the top, muscles burning and his heart tight. Everything would soon be alright, however, once he confirmed Tristan was safe. Kyro pushed on the heavy wooden door, its creak announcing his presence.

The small, circular room was empty aside from a dusty easel and stacks of empty wooden frames. Tristan sat by the narrow window, looking outside with an impassive face.

“You couldn’t have left a note?” Kyro asked, still slightly out of breath. Tristan didn’t respond or even acknowledge him in any way. “Or waited for me to come back to let me know you wanted to go somewhere? _Anything_?” He started to lose his patience over Tristan’s cold shoulder when there was no reply. “I ran _through_ and _around_ the entire _fucking_ castle looking for you, worried sick that something terrible might have happened. You really have _nothing_ to say to me?”

Tristan finally turned to face Kyro, his face still devoid of emotion.

“I’m sorry you lost sight of your precious golden goose for all of five seconds, but did it ever occur to you that maybe I didn’t want to be found?” Tristan said with disdain. Kyro looked like he got slapped, his mouth open in shock.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I said, I’m sorry I wanted to be alone for even just a little bit after finding out my uncle conspired with a foreign country to murder my parents nearly fifteen years ago. Information I found, by the way, from letters hidden in  _ your  _ desk.” Tristan threw the wrinkled envelope at Kyro’s feet, several sheets of paper sticking out of the top.

“Wh-what?” Kyro picked it up incredulously, suddenly remembering its existence. “I took this envelope from Darius’s study when I stole the missing book page...I only grabbed it because I was surprised to see such old documents with the Versal insignia on it.” He shook his head in astonishment. “I put it in my desk and forgot about it because all I could focus on was curing you…”

“Well, as it turns out this incident eventually ended up affecting you as well,” Tristan said stiffly. “Darius brokered a deal with Versal behind my parents’ backs. We were supposed to draw up a peace treaty with them, but he offered them land in our northwestern border if they sent assassins to ambush the royal retinue that set out to meet them. There were no survivors.” Tristan looked away, his red-rimmed eyes burned like dying stars as fresh tears welled up. “But of course, in an unsurprising turn of events, my snake of an uncle refused to make good on his end of the bargain, unwilling to remove our army from the northwest. At the time, our military was one of the strongest in the land. But the decline of aura users in Tieria has greatly weakened it. Versal is now more than capable of fighting back.” He looked back at Kyro. “Which led to Darius eventually turning toward Rien to steal the resources he needed to protect himself from his past indiscretions. And so we’ve come full circle.”

Kyro stood in stunned silence, amazed that his hatred and contempt for Darius could still increase.

“I’m...so sorry about your parents, Tristan,” he said, feeling despair and grief surge within him. “My...my entire family didn’t survive the attack on Rien. If anyone, I understand what you’re going through-”

“How,  _ how  _ could you understand?” Tristan whirled, tears falling unbidden. “You had  _ years  _ to be happy with your family, to make memories you will cherish for the rest of your life.” His face was wracked by torment and pain, fists balled up by his side. “I have  _ nothing _ . Everything was taken away from me before I could even understand what was going on. You know when you asked me if I missed my parents and I said no? I was lying - of  _ course  _ I miss my parents!” Tristan turned away, expression bitter and full of self-hate.

Kyro was quiet for a few moments, trying to calm himself and reel in his anger. He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply before speaking again.

“I get it,” he said through gritted teeth. “But no matter what, the past is the past. We can only move forward together-”

“Oh, save it, Kyro.” Tristan spat. “You don’t have to pretend so hard you actually care about me. We both know your real concern is just me staying alive long enough to free your people.”

A dark shadow passed over Kyro’s face as his expression turned to one of unbridled anger and hurt.

“You don’t mean that,” he said tersely. His eyes were narrowed to cold points, piercing Tristan through. Kyro’s heart, which he kept on his sleeve, bled profusely.

“Maybe I do.” He didn’t, but lying was what he did to protect himself from experiencing the even worse pain of his true fears.

Kyro’s fists opened and closed menacingly by his side, powerful muscles flexing, as if he would tear into Tristan at any given moment. Instead of resorting to violence as he used to, Kyro chose his next words very carefully.

“When I had your throat in my hands and I asked whether I could trust you not to immediately turn me over to the guards, you told me if I had already made up my mind about your integrity, I should just kill you.” He felt like every bone in his body was shattering into dust and his heart would never feel peace again. “Clearly, I was a fool for trusting you since you never thought of me in the same way. Seeing as you’ve already decided how I feel for me, consider me gone from your pitiful life for good. Sorry for ever thinking you were worth saving.” Kyro turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him as he descended the tower.

  
Tristan let out an agonizing scream, proceeding to smash everything he could get his hands on. Bits of wood flew through the air, splinters stabbing his hands ruthlessly as he hurled the empty picture frames against the stone walls. He sobbed wretchedly, collapsing to the ground which was covered in pieces of things that were now just as broken as he was. Unable to fight back against the darkness he had unwittingly nurtured in his own heart, Tristan had chosen to set himself and everything around him on fire, burning it all to ashes. He decided he would rather rip Kyro out of his heart now while he still could - otherwise there would be nothing left of himself to save if he waited too long.  _ It’s better this way _ , he thought over and over as if the repetition would eventually make it the truth.


	11. Chapter 11

As promised, Kyro didn’t appear in front of Tristan for two weeks. He stalked him around the castle, like a predator tracking its prey, but always kept a set distance away. If he felt Tristan approaching the room he was in, no matter what he was in the middle of doing, Kyro would immediately get up and leave. Their obvious avoidance of each other confused everyone in the castle and was a popular topic for discussion. Piri tried to talk to him several times but he refused to explain what went on between him and Tristan to cause such behavior, only stating that he ‘didn’t want Tristan’s stupidity to rub off on him.’ Since Kyro wasn’t willing to open up about the issue but was obviously miserable, Piri simply tried her best to keep him distracted and kept him company when she could.

“I suppose you won’t be joining the summer hunt, then?” she asked.

“The what?” Kyro hadn’t heard anything about it.

“The Regent is quite fond of spending a week in the northern woods toward the end of summer, hunting and whatnot. The Crown Prince along with other favored nobles go as well. I believe they’re due to set off in a few days”

Kyro’s eyes narrowed.

“Actually, I think I will.”

He got up to find Cytus to discuss the necessary preparations.  _ I’ll be damned if he thinks he can survive running off to the woods for a week without my protection _ , he thought in irritation.

The morning they were to set out, Tristan was shocked to see Kyro with the rest of the retinue. He quickly turned away before they made eye contact, guiding his horse to the front of the procession. It had been so long since they last saw each other that he thought he would be able to remain calm and unaffected, as was his goal for severing their relationship in the first place. However, his rapidly increasing heart rate told him otherwise. Tristan gripped the reins even tighter to stop his hands from trembling. Why, why did he feel like he had returned to the claustrophobic tower room from that day? It felt like he was transported back and time had not moved at all since, as if he were trapped in a stasis linked to the moment when he had self-destructed. Tristan tried to shake Kyro from his mind and focus on the path in front of him.

It took the large group a full day’s ride to reach their desired location, setting up camp right by the outskirts of a densely wooded forest that fed into a small mountain range surrounded by valleys and gorges. The openness of the clearing and proximity to a small river that wound its way through the forest made it the ideal base. By the time the sun was slipping below the horizon, the attending servants had erected several spacious tents for each of their lords and provided them with a late supper. Kyro had a small tent to himself, situated not too far from Tristan’s. Weary from the day of traveling, everyone retired early in preparation for the remainder of the week.

The trip was a leisurely and relaxed one, starting off with a couple uneventful days of scoping out the forest. The main hunting party, consisting of Tristan, Darius, and several other noblemen, would venture out to track and hunt any wildlife they happened upon. Some favored horses while others preferred to move about on foot. Kyro and a few other servants would follow a short distance away, allowing the hunters ample space to pursue their prey. He kept a close eye on Tristan and an even closer eye on those around him, never knowing who in Darius’s circle posed a threat.

S everal times the group encountered families of deer jumping and ducking through the forest, able to slowly creep up on lone individuals once or twice. A medium sized doe quietly ambled through the foliage, unaware of the danger lurking around her. The noblemen swarmed around Tristan, encouraging him to take a shot. Put on the spot, Tristan steadied his horse and took aim. He held a longbow out in front of him, carefully notching an arrow that ended in a deadly metal tip. After drawing back the string, muscles tensed, he exhaled and released. The forest was silent as the arrow sailed between trees until it sliced cleanly through a thin branch just above the doe’s head, startling her into escape.

“A pity, Your Highness, but you’ll get her next time,” one of the nobles simpered.

Tristan gave no response, slinging the bow over his shoulder and leading his horse away. Kyro’s heart hurt from where he watched the scene atop his own horse, fighting against the sad expression starting to appear on his face. Tristan hadn’t missed his shot at all - Kyro knew he would never hunt a defenseless animal and only aimed to chase the doe away from the start. None of these smug, shallow aristocrats would ever understand the depth of Tristan’s emotions - how deeply he felt things - like Kyro did. Or at least, he thought he did, until two weeks ago.

The days proceeded in a similar fashion with Darius and the nobles taking down a small variety of creatures from wild pheasants to a large stag, feasting upon the game prepared by the servants the same night. Tristan barely managed to hide his distaste, trying to tune out his uncle boasting about his hunting prowess and past conquests over a quickly emptying pot of mulled wine. Unfortunately for Tristan, the evening’s conversation took an even more disastrous turn.

“Herron, don’t you think Tristan and your Eris would be a splendid match?” Darius said, the glow from the firelight accentuating his ruddy face.

“Of course, Your Highness, I do recall them looking particularly close at your birthday celebration,” Herron responded slyly. The councilman salivated over the thought of a match between his daughter and the kingdom’s crown prince.

“Come now, Nephew, we should just announce the engagement and be done with it.” Darius gave Tristan an unrestrained slap on the back before continuing with a slight jeer, “Besides, it seems like that Rien dog has finally gotten tired of following you around.” He laughed uproariously, ignoring the split second of fury that shot across Tristan’s face.

“Indeed, if it so pleases the Crown Prince my daughter would be incredibly humbled by your proposal,” Herron turned to Tristan expectantly.

“Thank you for your interest, Councilman Gria, but I’m afraid this isn’t a discussion I’m willing to have at the moment,” Tristan said politely before standing up. “I am retiring for the evening, good night.” He couldn’t leave the group behind fast enough, resisting the urge break out into a run. Instead of going back into his tent, Tristan grabbed his bow and quiver before slipping into the forest.

After trudging far enough into the woods to where he could barely make out the shadows of their camp, Tristan picked a sturdy looking tree and began firing arrows into it. He aimed for the small, circular knot mid-way up the trunk, hitting just off the mark several times.

“So the shot from the other day was a fluke, huh?”

Tristan whirled and let an arrow fly toward the voice, embedding itself right by Kyro’s head, deep into the tree he was leaning against.

“You missed again.” Kyro tsk-tsked in disapproval, yanking the arrow out of the tree and twirling it in his hand. He had been listening to the nobles’ chatter from afar with equal amounts of ire when he saw Tristan heading into the forest instead of returning to his tent.

“What do you want, Kyro.” Tristan glared at him under the moonlight.

He closed the distance between them swiftly, standing tall in front of Tristan so that half of his face was obscured by shadow.

“Thanks to your asinine addiction to courting death, I don’t trust you won’t wander off into the jaws of danger just to spite me.”

The scattered moonlight highlighted the savage glint in Kyro’s eyes, making Tristan’s stomach twist. Kyro grabbed Tristan’s free hand so suddenly he almost fell back in surprise when he felt strong fingers place the slim arrow in his grasp. Before releasing their hands, Kyro jerked the tip of the arrow toward his chest, letting the sharp point rest just over his heart. He leaned into Tristan’s neck slowly, close enough for his lips to graze Tristan’s ear, eliciting an involuntary shudder.

“Aim here,” he whispered coldly. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Kyro disappeared back into the darkness just as abruptly as he had appeared, but no doubt staying within range to keep an eye on him. Tristan’s heart pounded so loudly he thought it would explode, the ache in his chest causing his face to strain between indignation and anguish. His fingers tightened around the arrow shaft, knuckles white. After standing silently for several moments, trying to tame his bursting emotions, Tristan angrily gathered the spent arrows and retreated to his tent.

The following morning’s sky was grey and turbulent, heavy clouds foreshadowing the chance of rain. Rather than be caught out in the woods during the storm, Darius and his entourage spent the day under the shelter of a large tent, comfortably furnished with pillows and low tables on top of a raised platform. They whiled away eating and drinking, gossiping over a fierce game of cards. Unwilling to once again be the topic of an uncomfortable discussion, Tristan alienated himself by taking a walk in the woods. He didn’t care if the impending rain soaked him to his core; at the very least he figured the ever-lurking Kyro would be just as miserable.

Tristan walked aimlessly as a gloomy morning turned into a bleak afternoon. He didn’t particularly care or mind where he was going, his legs moving on autopilot while he struggled to keep his mind blank. Eventually, he could start to see some of the mountains looming overhead. The wild trail he blazed led him on a slight incline until he found himself overlooking a valley at the base of the mountains. Tired from his hike, Tristan sat on the ground right at the precipice of the rocky outcrop he had climbed. Under better circumstances and weather the valley might look scenic or verdant - instead it looked forsaken and abandoned, overgrown with suffocating vines much like Tristan’s own mind.

“I know you’re there,” he said aloud. “You might as well come out into the open, you’re creeping me out.” Tristan didn’t actually know if he was being followed since he couldn’t feel other people’s auras like Kyro could, but his subconscious hoped he was not alone - especially since he had recklessly explored deep into the forest, planning to rely on Kyro’s perception to lead them back. A growing sense of dread started to well up within him when there was no answer. Tristan was about to get up in panic when he saw Kyro’s figure sit down beside him out of the corner of his eye.

Kyro’s face was stoic, looking straight off into the distance before them, offering no words. A heavy silence hung between them like an iron curtain; they sat right next to each other but could not be farther apart. Tristan felt like the air was slowly being squeezed out of his lungs, given no chance to reinflate, but he knew this was his own doing. He was responsible for what had gone so terribly wrong between them and the worst part was he thought he had made the right choice. Between the pain of seeing Kyro’s eyes filled with resentment whenever they exchanged looks or having to send him off with a smile, knowing that the other was walking out of his life for good... Tristan selfishly and cowardly decided being despised was preferable to being left behind.

Eventually, the clouds above rolled together into a dense grey stormcloud. Small raindrops began to fall as the wind whipped about their hair. Tristan made no move to relocate so Kyro matched him like a statue. They continued to sit on the overlook until they were soaked to their skin, no hint of the afternoon sun to warm the chilling summer rain. Finally, Kyro couldn’t take it anymore.

“Is this your latest absurd scheme? To catch your death by a cold?” His voice was as sharp as the droplets that blew into their faces, stinging and relentless. He was absolutely fed up with Tristan’s childish behavior although deep down Kyro couldn’t help but be concerned for his health, especially since he was only just getting back to a stable condition.

“Let me be,” Tristan said sullenly.

“How can I, when my kingdom’s fate lies with you, you who so clearly has a death wish I can only think you’re intentionally trying to sabotage me.” Kyro stood up in irritation, looming over Tristan. Tristan finally got to his feet, staring him straight in the eyes.

“Well, maybe being dead beats having to put up with your dreadful presence.”

“ _ I’m _ dreadful?” Kyro scoffed. “The only person around here who has been absolutely intolerable is you.” Using both his hands, he pushed back his sodden hair, exhaling in exasperation. “Can we just...talk?” he asked quietly, voice barely carrying over the sound of endless rainfall. “Did I do something wrong?” Kyro’s voice betrayed the emotions churning within him as he stared sadly at the other through the blurry filter of rain, the coldness seeping into his core. He looked like a stray dog who had been warmed and fed by Tristan, only to have the door suddenly slammed in his face.

_ Don’t...look at me like that _ , Tristan thought. He turned his head away and took a defensive step back, trying to put distance between the two. Kyro wasn’t going to let him off so easily this time - after the initial anger and rage from their fight had subsided, he instinctively knew something was off with Tristan’s behavior. There had to be some kind of reasoning behind his sudden change of heart. He was sick and tired of them being at odds, always on eggshells around each other, and was determined to push Tristan through whatever he was struggling with.

“Tristan,” Kyro said. “Talk to me.” He practically commanded him, amber eyes sparking with intensity through the gray mist.

“I...I…” Tristan couldn’t meet his eyes; he wanted to tell Kyro everything, to release all the festering fear and self-loathing he kept locked up inside of him. But he was so scared of taking a single step forward that all he could do was to take another step back.

“Don’t!” Kyro shouted before panic and fear swept across both their faces. Tristan hadn’t realized how close to the end of the cliff he had gotten and when he went to place his foot behind him, slipped over the edge. He lost his balance and began to fall backward into the air.

Kyro immediately jumped off the cliff after Tristan, managing to wrap his arms around him. They fell quickly, plummeting to the ground before smashing through a crumbling layer of rock and dirt to fall even further into a large cavern. A loud crash finally marked the end of their descent as the impact against the bedrock rang through the echoing space. Tristan lay dazed on top of Kyro for a few moments before recovering his senses, head still spinning. He was rattled but in one piece - Kyro had held him close to his body, breaking their fall.

“Kyro?” Tristan cried frantically, climbing off of him and checking his pulse. Kyro didn’t respond but was still breathing, to Tristan’s immense relief. He felt his eyes stinging with tears, mingling with the remaining rainwater that dripped down from his hair. Tristan firmly tapped his face and called his name repeatedly, begging him to wake up. Kyro finally groaned and moved slightly before crying out in pain. He blinked his eyes open and winced, knowing immediately something was broken in his body.

“Are-are you alright?” Tristan asked in a small voice.

He slowly turned his head to see Tristan kneeling beside him, rain streaking his face. Kyro took a sharp breath before sitting up, enough pain shooting through his body to nearly cause him to black out. But he steeled his mind, gaining the conviction to remain conscious after he determined Tristan was unhurt. They were both covered in mud and dirt among other things, looking like a pair of drowned rats.

“I’m...fine,” he said through gritted teeth, rotating away so that all Tristan could see was his back. Kyro was pretty sure his left arm, which he had the misfortune of landing on at an angle, was broken in at least two or three places. It hung limply by his side, nerves feeling like they were being doused in hot oil. Kyro guessed the first collision with the ground was when he broke his arm, but at least it slowed their momentum for the second drop. Miraculously, the rest of his body seemed functional, despite the numerous microfractions he undoubtedly suffered. He also most likely had a concussion along with a host of bruises and shallow cuts, but nothing dwarfed the pain of his arm. To distract himself even just momentarily, Kyro looked around their surroundings, praying there were no immediate threats.

They had fallen through the valley floor into what seemed to be an underground cave; light and rain trickled in from the hole in the ceiling that they had come through. At least for the moment they were dry. The space was shaped like a bowl, rounded walls curving upwards and pitted with several large circular tunnels leading deeper into the earth.

“Reminds me of mountain worm caves back at home,” he grunted. “They’re quite gentle and gain nutrients from passing the earth through their bodies.” He talked slowly, focusing on each word to divert his attention away from his pain. “A lot of raw gemstones and metal ore end up in their excrement, so we don’t bother them.”

Kyro felt Tristan suddenly move; up until then he had been sniffling quietly, keeping to himself. His dewy eyes grew large as he shakily lifted an arm to point at the center of the cave. There was a thick layer of detritus covering the ground, forming a small mound. The disturbing part was what the mixture consisted of: dirt, rocks, and various bones. Kyro could make out both human and animal.

“...Shit,” Kyro cursed, blood immediately beginning to drain from his face. “Ok, so your worms are carnivorous, perfect,” he muttered.  _ Another charming feature of Tieria, right after an insufferable crown prince. _

Tristan continued to glower off to the side, lost in his own thoughts and the shock of having nearly fallen to their deaths. Kyro slowly pushed himself to his feet, breathing hard and standing shakily for a few moments. After the initial wave of dizziness passed, he steadied himself and walked over to the pile of bones. Using his good arm, he dug through the remnants of unlucky travelers and animals, praying for something useful among the wreckage. He was able to find a rusted hunting knife, its serrated blade almost the length of his forearm.  _ Better than nothing _ , he sighed, feeling a little safer with a weapon in hand. Tristan watched him from a distance impassively when the entire cavern began to rumble. The two immediately locked eyes and with grim understanding, quickly moved to opposite ends of the cave, pushing themselves flat against the rock walls.

They waited with bated breath until a monstrous head appeared from one of the tunnels. The mountain worm’s body was long and segmented, mottled brown skin undulating as it moved. Its height was slightly taller than Kyro, tapering off toward its tail. However, the most horrifying part of the worm was its mouth: the front of the worm opened into a gaping hole rimmed with three rows of razor sharp teeth. Lacking methods to see, hear, or smell, the worm instead relied on feeling vibrations to navigate and hunt its prey. Kyro and Tristan’s conspicuous entrance had no doubt grabbed its attention as it investigated the cavern for the source of the disruption.

The worm circled the cave several times, getting dangerously close to where the two of them stood. Finally, Kyro chose his moment to act, not seeing any other way out of the predicament besides going on the offensive. When the worm’s massive head passed his position, he broke out into a run, dashing along its body in the opposite direction. He held the knife out with his right arm, cutting into its flesh as he went. Kyro spun around when he reached the other side of the cave, assessing the worm’s condition. Unfortunately, the old knife wasn’t able to cut deep enough through its hardened skin to wound it fatally. The worm screeched and thrashed its tail about in response, turning to face Kyro’s direction.

“I think you just pissed it off,” Tristan exclaimed.

“Not...helping!” Kyro shot back as he started to run along the cave’s wall, away from Tristan. The worm picked up on his movements and began to chase after him, teeth snapping viciously. Kyro tried the same maneuver several more times, attempting to deepen the original cut with each pass. Eventually, he began to slow down, steps faltering from fatigue. Tristan watched with unease, noticing the worm gaining on Kyro. He looked around helplessly for a few moments before taking a deep breath and rushing forward. Tristan grabbed several small rocks and began throwing them at the worm’s body.

“Hey!” he shouted, waving his arms madly. “Over here!”

Sensing Tristan’s movements and not appreciating being pelted by rocks, the mountain worm roared and began to turn away from Kyro, who staggered against the wall. He was panting, trying to catch his breath when he realized what was happening. The worm eventually started picking up speed as it wriggled toward Tristan’s direction, who stood motionless in fright as the gruesome mouth got closer and closer. When he finally started to move, Tristan’s feet stumbled over the litter on the cavern floor as he clumsily ran for his life. The worm was easily able to catch up to him and shrank its head back in preparation to snap forward. Just as its teeth were about to snap at Tristan’s body, Kyro slammed into him, knocking them both off to the side just out of the worm’s fatal reach.

Kyro blinked back tears and bit down on his lip as he felt the worm’s teeth slice through his back, shredding his shirt to ribbons but thankfully only making three shallow slashes in his skin. Its head reared back above them, both prone on the ground, as it let out a blood curdling screech. The next few seconds unfolded before Tristan as if in slow motion. He could see the giant worm’s head begin to fall toward them, mouth open and teeth bared, when Kyro pushed himself off the ground at the same time. With a murderous yell he jumped upward as the worm’s head came down, thrusting the knife into the roof of its mouth. The force of the worm’s momentum ensured that the knife was deeply embedded in its soft flesh, all the way to the hilt.

“Kyro!” Tristan screamed, filled with visceral terror. When Kyro had lifted his arm to stab the worm, its jagged teeth had sunk down to the bone into his shoulder as well. He grunted as he tore away from the dying creature, fumbling out of its maw on unsteady legs before collapsing backward onto Tristan. Blood poured from his shoulder, hot and slick, flowing out unceasingly. Tristan’s mind was blank as he tore his thin cloak into strips, trying to bandage Kyro’s wound and staunch the bleeding. He carefully dragged Kyro away from the still frightening but thankfully unmoving carcass, gently laying him down and cushioning his head in his lap.

“Why?” he sobbed, eyes blinded by tears. “Why are you going so far to protect me?” Tristan knew Kyro continued to throw his life away to save his own, whether by jumping off the cliff after him without hesitation, ensuring that he suffered the brunt of the fall when they landed, or throwing himself in front of the mountain worm’s savage bite.

“Too..stu...pid,” Kyro began weakly. “To...take care of...yourself.” He groaned as fresh blood began to seep out of his wounds but managed to get a couple more words out. “Can’t...lose...” he mumbled, eventually falling unconscious and succumbing to the pain. Tristan tried to call out to him but no matter what, he wouldn’t respond. He wanted to yell at Kyro for being reckless and rash but he knew that truthfully, everything was his own fault. He would give anything to go back in time and prevent the chain of events that led to Kyro bleeding out in his arms from ever coming to pass. Tristan felt unbearable despair as he looked down at Kyro’s face that was marred by agony.

“I’m so sorry, Kyro,” he cried helplessly.  _ I thought I could bear to lose you, but not like this. _ Tristan swore that if Kyro survived, he would never act so cowardly ever again. If Kyro could freely risk his life for someone like himself, then he could gather the courage to face him properly. Tristan was ashamed of how pathetically he had behaved, hating himself for letting his fears and insecurities push him to cause Kyro so much pain.

He lost track of how much time had passed, using the rainfall that collected in shallow pools to clean and rebandage Kyro’s wounds every so often. His body began to burn up in fever, causing him to toss back and forth in fits. Tristan tried his best to restrain Kyro, but most of the time was unsuccessful in preventing him from reopening his injuries. It was late in the night when Kyro began to ramble incoherently, lost in the depths of his mind.

“Mother...Father…” he breathed. “I-I couldn’t protect anyone...please...forgive me…”

Hearing Kyro’s voice, Tristan roused from his half asleep state and pulled him closer, trying to soothe him with gentle strokes along his head. He dabbed at Kyro’s forehead with a piece of cloth, wiping away the cold sweat on his brow.

“...Can’t...lose...” he repeated, tears escaping from his eyes. “...Tristan…”

Tristan was startled awake when he heard his name, responding quickly.

“Yes, I’m here.”

He waited intently for Kyro to continue, but there was only silence. Tristan’s heart sank when Kyro remained unconscious, praying for him to open his eyes and say something insulting, as if everything would be okay.

Eventually Tristan passed out beside Kyro, unable to fight against his own fatigue. He barely regained consciousness when they were found by the search party, unable to speak coherently as castle guards extracted them from the cave and rushed back to the capital. Tristan wanted to remain by Kyro’s side, having held his hand throughout the entire night, but didn’t have the strength to protest when they were separated.

Tristan woke with a start, mind hazy and residual panic immediately washing over him. He looked around desperately, feeling a profound emptiness.

“Your Highness, he is in his room,” a calm voice said.

Tristan snapped to the source of the sound, seeing Cytus sitting in a chair by his bedside, an open book in his lap. He looked weary and older than usual, having dealt with the crisis and keeping watch over the crown prince.

“I-is...is he...?” Tristan’s voice trembled, heart twisted in knots. His thoughts were in complete turmoil as he tried to suppress the sickening paranoia of his worst fears.

“He is stable but still unconscious. With enough rest, I’m sure he will make a full recovery.”

Cytus had barely finished speaking when Tristan jumped out of bed, nearly falling to the ground on unsteady legs. He immediately went through the connecting door and rushed to the bed, standing over it with his heart pounding. The room was dimly lit and uncomfortably quiet. Kyro lay completely still with his eyes closed, bandages wrapping most of his upper body and a splint supporting his left arm. Tristan would have thought the worst if it weren’t for the slow rise and fall of Kyro’s chest. Upon confirming Kyro was indeed safe for the time being, Tristan broke down in tears, legs giving out from under him. He leaned over the edge of the bed, holding Kyro’s warm but unresponsive hand, gripping tightly to feel the comfort of his pulse. He didn’t move from his position until the sun had long set and Cytus urged him to eat and rest some more.

Several days passed and Kyro remained asleep. Tristan spent every waking moment by his side, periodically wiping down his body and assisting the castle doctors when they changed his bandages to reapply medicine. His shoulder wound was deep, needing time for the tissue and muscle to reconnect, but thankfully the cuts on his back would heal without issue. Kyro’s broken arm would probably take the longest time to recover. Tristan couldn’t believe he had fought the worm in such a condition, adding to his already lengthy list of things to apologize for.

It wasn’t until almost a full week later when Kyro finally stirred. Tristan had been keeping himself occupied by reorganizing the books in Kyro’s room for the tenth time when he heard someone call his name.

“Tris...tan…”

Dropping the book he was holding, Tristan ran to Kyro’s side to see him slowly blinking his eyes open.

“I’m here, Kyro, I’m here.” He took Kyro’s hand in his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Kyro groaned and stiffly turned his neck to look at Tristan, his throat was dry and he struggled to speak, feeling like his mouth was full of cotton.

“You...look...awful,” he croaked.

Tristan had deep bags under his eyes that stood out on his pale skin, hair messily tied back and clothes wrinkled and askew. His pallid appearance from lack of sleep and proper nutrition was a pitiful display, a far cry from his usually neat countenance. But when Tristan let out a light laugh at his words, a small smile forming on his wan face, Kyro felt like his life or death struggle was worth it to wake to such a beautiful sight.

“I-I...you...” Tristan started before being unable to continue. He was overcome by emotion as Kyro looked up at him, gaze strong and unyielding despite the condition his body was in. “Don’t...don’t ever scare me like that again,” Tristan whispered, hot tears once again falling down his face.

“I guess...that makes us even,” Kyro mumbled softly, squeezing Tristan's shaking hands. Tristan didn’t understand what Kyro meant but started to cry even harder nonetheless.

“I’m...so s-sorry, Kyro,” he said in between sobs.

“Does this mean you’ll...finally stop running away from me?” Kyro grimaced in pain; he wanted to sit up but the slightest motion set his shoulder on fire. He had to settle for resolutely staring up at Tristan, amber eyes hard like yellow gemstones. Taking both of their near death experiences into account, Kyro was done having to keep up with Tristan’s mental gymnastics. He either wanted him around, or didn’t.

Tristan didn’t respond for a long time, only continuing to cry quietly and clutch Kyro’s hand even tighter. It wasn’t until he wordlessly nodded his head that Kyro felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his soul. The pain of his physical wounds was incomparable to the emotional scars that had been left on his heart from losing everything he held dear, which manifested in his behavior. He had never meant to grow so attached to Tristan, especially given the circumstances of their meeting, but now that Kyro had once more found something precious and worth protecting, he was loath to let go - even if it was what Tristan wanted in the end. So knowing that Tristan truly didn’t want them to part gave him an immense sense of relief, allowing him to breathe freely for the first time since they had fought.

“Do you...want to talk about it?” he asked quietly.

Tristan merely shook his head before speaking, his tears starting to dry.

“I was just being stupid.”

“Well, I already knew that,” Kyro smiled wryly. He adjusted his hand to reverse their positions, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles on the back of Tristan’s hand. “You can talk to me, you know.”

Tristan remained silent for a while until he spoke softly, glistening eyes finally staring straight back at Kyro.

“You’re not going to leave me...right?”

“Of course not,” Kyro answered immediately, brows furrowing in thought. Kyro tightened his grip and continued intently, “I promise, okay?”

Tristan only smiled back weakly, knowing that Kyro probably didn’t realize what he was referring to. Not wanting to talk any longer, Tristan carefully climbed into bed beside Kyro, making sure not to bump into him.

“I’m tired,” he said. “And you should sleep more.”

Kyro wasn’t particularly sleepy given how long he had been unconscious for, but he was too pleased over their reconciliation to protest, so he complied.

“Fine, just don’t kick me,” he said with a satisfied smile on his face.


	12. Chapter 12

Kyro was forced into a couple weeks of bed rest, much to his dismay. He was bored and frustrated beyond belief, itching to be able to get up and move about normally again. His luck was abysmal, as his left arm was immobile due to being broken while his right arm couldn’t be lifted without immense pain in his shoulder. Kyro hated feeling useless, forced to rely on others to do anything. Thankfully, Tristan didn’t mind assisting him with his daily routine. In fact, he was surprisingly enthusiastic for a prince, to be serving someone else. He actually seemed happiest when they ate meals together, feeding Kyro bite by bite. Kyro, on the other hand, was mortified at the treatment and fought hard to control his embarrassment, always feeling his ears heating up.

The end of summer was fast approaching and the weather would soon turn; Kyro couldn’t believe winter was just a few months away. When he was finally well enough to be on his feet and use his right arm somewhat competently, Kyro ordered Tristan to resume their morning training regimen. Both of them were in a pretty sorry state after the events of the past couple of months, but just because Kyro couldn’t join in yet didn’t mean Tristan had the luxury to be complacent. At the very least Kyro felt like something was getting done and he could live vicariously through Tristan for the time being. Every day he spent recovering was a day that Tristan was extra vulnerable.

One morning after finishing his exercises, Tristan surprised Kyro with a request.

“Kyro...I’ve been thinking," he began, using a small cloth to wipe the sweat from his bare upper body.

“Sounds dangerous, don’t hurt yourself.”

Kyro was seated off to the side with his legs propped up on a small patio table, lazily watching Tristan. He wore a cheeky grin on his face as Tristan shot him a dirty glare from across the courtyard.

“I want you to teach me how to fight,” he said. “With a weapon.”

Kyro immediately sat up properly, an excited glint in his eye.

“I’ve seen you use a bow before, is that not enough?”

Tristan shook his head.

“I want to learn how to use a sword.”

“Hm, I can really only instruct you in the Rien style, which uses sabers.”

“That’s fine, I don’t think I’m much suited for longswords, anyways.”

“Well then, we’re going to have to get our hands on some swords,” Kyro said with a feral smile.

The following day, Kyro got to stretch his legs and visit the castle blacksmith. Since it wasn’t as if the castle stocked the traditional sabers that were used in Rien, he would have to get some made. The head blacksmith was a friendly enough man, sporting two powerful arms and grey in his hair. Luckily, his schedule was currently free enough to take on Kyro’s request. Using an old saber the blacksmith had on hand in storage, Kyro explained the specifications and changes he wanted and ordered two to be made with the blades still unsharpened.

While they waited for the swords to be created, Kyro started Tristan off with a short wooden sword. By then his arm splint had been traded out for a sling, so he was a lot more mobile than before. He first explained the basic forms and proper stances in sword fighting, drilling Tristan with the tenacity of a sergeant. Tristan was brought back to the painful days when Kyro would smack him around with a wooden staff, for he soon collected many bruises from Kyro’s instruction.

“Why does learning how to fight always have to be so painful?” Tristan groaned after they wrapped up their nightly training session. He was laying on his back on the soft grass, staring up at the stars twinkling in the sky.

“You’re just too slow,” Kyro teased, in a similar but opposite position on the ground from Tristan, slightly off-set so their heads were beside each other. Tristan suddenly flipped over onto his forearms, causing Kyro’s breath to hitch when his face appeared just inches above his own. Strands of golden hair that had come loose tickled his face, luminous in the moonlight and emitting a sweet scent. Tristan pinched and yanked at Kyro’s cheeks before rolling back over.

“Ow, what was that for,” Kyro grumbled, massaging his aching cheeks. Tristan pouted in silence. After a while, he spoke.

“Hey, Kyro.”

“Mm?”

“What will you do after all this? Once you...can go home?”

Kyro remained quiet for a few moments.

“I guess I’ll just...help Rien rebuild and move forward.”

It sounded so simple in his head, but Kyro was starting to doubt whether or not he was capable of leading his kingdom after everything that had happened. He didn’t want to admit it, but the longer he dwelled on the thought, the less confidence he had.

“You really love your country, don’t you?” A hard lump formed in Tristan’s throat. He couldn’t say the words buried deep in his heart.  _ Stay with me, don’t leave. _

“Of course. Don’t you love Tieria?”

Tristan wasn’t sure how to answer. Of course he loved Tieria, he was the prince. But his feelings about it and the crown were complicated, to say the least.

“...I do, but fixing my uncle’s mistakes will be difficult. I will do everything in my power to ensure Tieria’s prosperity, but through peaceful means.” Tristan sighed, thinking about the complex political relationships Tieria had, especially the militant predicament with Versal. “Sometimes, I wish I was just Tristan. Not Tristan Crane, His Royal Highness Crown Prince of Tieria. I could live life freely with both my parents, maybe even some siblings. Perhaps my uncle wouldn’t be such a psychopath if he were a commoner,” he scoffed.

“And miss the opportunity to have met me?” Kyro said with a raised eyebrow, faking offense. But Kyro thoroughly understood how Tristan felt after falling to his current position.  _ What would happen if I just...didn’t go back? _ he wondered. The world thought he was dead, after all. Perhaps things would be better if he wasn’t around to complicate things. He quickly shook the thought from his head.  _ No, I can’t abandon my people when they need me the most. _ No matter how difficult the path forward was, it was his burden to bear.

Tristan scowled and thoughtlessly slapped Kyro in the arm, causing him to grunt, wincing from the blow.

“I’m so sorry!” Tristan exclaimed, pushing himself up to look over at Kyro in concern.

“You are... _ so _ dead tomorrow,” Kyro laughed darkly through the pain. Once the stinging passed, he sat up as well and continued, “But for what it’s worth, I think you’ll make a great king, Tristan.” He stared at Tristan with clear eyes, reflecting the crescent moon. Tristan felt his face heat up under Kyro’s strong gaze, shyly making eye contact.

" Thank you, Kyro. That really means a lot to me.” He smiled, causing Kyro’s heart to warm. “For what it’s worth, for some reason I feel like you’d make a great king too,” Tristan chuckled, considering Kyro’s domineering and stately personality.

Kyro returned the smile as he thought,  _ I can only hope to one day prove you right. _

***

When the sabers were ready to be picked up, Kyro was surprised to hear some startling news from the blacksmith.

“You’re lucky I got to these when I did, lad. Word is General Blackwood and his division are returning within a fortnight and I can’t imagine how many repair orders I’ll have to go through.” The older man shook his head, handing over two sheathed swords.

Kyro thanked the blacksmith and left, feeling vexed. Back when Piri had first told him about Frey Blackwood, he wasn’t keen on the young general’s long list of accomplishments. Specifically, his well-known closeness with the crown prince. Kyro selfishly hoped that Piri’s opinion of him was overinflated and that he didn’t actually have that deep of a bond with Tristan. Either way, Frey’s return left a knot of apprehension in the pit of his stomach.

Pushing his troubling worries to the back of his mind for the time being, Kyro went about his day as usual. Since he still couldn’t do anything too physically demanding that taxed his entire body, like sparring with the castle guards, Kyro was stuck in a leisurely state for the most part. He split his daylight hours between various activities, such as therapeutic chats with Percival in the stables or wandering parts of the castle he had never seen before. Tristan even attempted to get him to try his hand at painting, but upon seeing Kyro’s first results quickly banned him from the hobby.

Meanwhile, after dinner time Kyro continued to instruct Tristan in sword fighting. Contrary to the strong and heavy composition of Tierian longswords, the sabers Kyro grew up with were light and sleek, slightly curved at the end and primarily controlled with one hand. Their fighting form was all about speed and precision, dodging and striking back in the smallest of openings. Although sometimes slow and a bit clumsy, Tristan eventually grasped an understanding of the movements and proper forms. Of course, he was still no match for Kyro, even with his wounds and one arm in a sling. But through diligence and Kyro’s draconian teaching style, Tristan was able to make a decent amount of progress.

By the time he had been training for almost three weeks, Tristan’s swordsmanship was at a passable novice level and Kyro was finally free from his detestable arm sling.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Tristan asked.

“Couldn’t be better!” Kyro slowly rotated his shoulders to relieve the stiffness and flexed his freshly mended arm, excited to be once more uninhibited. He probably would have lost his mind to boredom and lack of physical stimulation if Tristan hadn’t taken the initiative to pick up sword fighting.

“Just...don’t push yourself, okay?” Tristan sighed, watching Kyro enthusiastically stretching out of the corner of his eye. His heart throbbed at the sight of the pale, jagged scars on Kyro’s shoulder and back. He wasn’t sure if it was guilt or something else that pained him, but Tristan figured it was only right that Kyro didn’t bear the hurt alone.

“I’m fine, really.” Kyro said as they got into position, facing each other with swords drawn. “At least now you’ll be going down to me at full strength and not while I’m a cripple,” he smirked.

Tristan glared at Kyro’s taunting and lunged at him with a growl, forcing Kyro to sidestep and parry. Kyro merely grinned wider, a wild look in his eyes, as he smoothly stepped forward and swung out toward Tristan. Tristan barely had time to raise his saber to block, stumbling backward. They continued to exchange blows several times, swords flying as they whirled back and forth. After a few rounds, Tristan had several new sore spots on his arms and legs while Kyro remained untouched.

“Come on, Tristan, you can do better than that,” Kyro goaded, aiming a low strike at Tristan’s shin. Tristan jumped away from the blade, immediately thrusting his saber toward Kyro’s side. He deflected the blow and was about to make a counter attack when Tristan froze, holding his hand out in front of him.

“Wait!”

Kyro’s muscles strained as he brought his movements to a halt, watching Tristan looking off into the distance.

“Do you hear that?” Tristan’s eyes were wide, dropping his saber onto the grass.

Kyro exhaled and calmed his breathing, trying to make out the faint sounds that were carried on the wind. Tristan suddenly grabbed his hand and dragged him to the edge of the courtyard, which was blocked off by the white stones of the castle. The personal courtyards connected to each of the suites on their floor were open to the outside air, so if one could peer over the seven foot wall a majority of the castle grounds could be seen.

“Give me a boost up,” he said anxiously, waiting for Kyro to lace his fingers together so he could be lifted upward.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Kyro muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes but doing as he was told. He braced himself as Tristan stepped into his hands, grabbing onto the top of the wall and peeking over, too focused on what the commotion was to register Kyro’s annoyance. There was a flurry of activity at the front gates as guards with blazing torches ushered in the Tierian army. A lone figure led the soldiers atop a massive warhorse, dark hair ruffling in the night breeze.

“They’re back!” Tristan jumped down and ran to his room, throwing on a loose shirt and taking the stairs three at a time. Kyro was left standing alone in the courtyard, knowing exactly whom Tristan was so desperate to greet. Gritting his teeth, he jammed his sword into the ground and chased after Tristan.

Kyro had just caught up at the main entrance yard to see Tristan standing in front of a large horse, looking up at its rider.

“Frey!” he exclaimed slightly out of breath but with a brilliant smile plastered on his face, hair disheveled and cheeks flushed from running through the castle. “Welcome home!”

The young man looked down at the beaming youth, upturned eyes a startling shade of bright blue. His black hair blended in with the night sky, pulled back into a ponytail and framing his pale face elegantly. His high, arrow straight nose and imperious air made Kyro think this was the kind of guy who always looked down on other people. But his own biases aside, he couldn’t deny that Frey was incredibly handsome.  _ Feh, I bet you’re not so tall once you’re off that horse _ , he thought.

“I am glad to see you are well, Your Highness,” Frey said in a cool voice.

“How was your journey, did you encounter any troubles? What’s the situation with the northwest border? And the status of Versal?” Tristan bombarded him with questions, wanting to hear every detail about Frey’s travels.

“Your Highness, the General has had a long and tiresome trip, it’s best we let him rest for the night,” Cytus advised, coming over to Tristan’s side after having helped direct troops and supplies to unload. Kyro saw his chance and cut in, swiftly coming up behind Tristan and wrapping his arms around the slim waist possessively.

“Yeah, it’s late and my shoulder hurts, let’s go to bed,” Kyro pouted, nuzzling into Tristan’s neck, causing him to nearly combust from Kyro’s touch if not for Cytus’s intervention.

“Young man, what did I tell you about propriety!” Cytus pinched Kyro’s ear, dragging him off an extremely red and incapacitated Tristan. “No shirt, no shoes,” he chastised. “What were you two even doing up this late?”

“Sword fighting?” Kyro answered with a smirk, shrugging his shoulders. Tristan recovered his senses enough to enter a coughing fit, turning even redder, while Cytus was one second from kicking Kyro out onto the streets. Meanwhile, Frey had dismounted from his horse and walked over to the group, an unamused expression on his face. He removed the metal gauntlet from his hand before gently patting Tristan’s back, helping him to clear his airways.

“Please excuse me, Your Highness, but I would like to retire for the night. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up tomorrow.” His expression softened ever so slightly as he looked upon Tristan, moving his hand from Tristan’s back to the top of his head. Kyro puffed up beside him, glowering at Frey.  _ Shit! It’s not fair, why is he so tall! _ Frey stood a couple inches above Kyro, his impressive suit of armor gleaming in the moonlight. The two stared at one another wordlessly, sizing each other up.

“Of course, I’m sorry for being so inconsiderate. I’ll make sure the chefs have all your favorite dishes prepared for when you wake up.” Tristan smiled angelically, unaware of the sparks flying between Kyro and Frey.

“Then I will take my leave first,” Frey bowed his head to Tristan. “Good night, Your Highness.” He turned to leave, walking in the direction of the castle barracks. Although Frey was of high enough birth to warrant his presence in the upper ward of the castle, he preferred to stay in the barracks with his division.

Tristan waved at Frey’s retreating figure, still smiling, when Kyro grabbed his hand and practically carried him back inside the castle. Once they were back in Tristan’s room, Kyro finally released his hold, a scowl on his face.

“What’s wrong?” Tristan asked innocently, voice filled with concern. “Does your shoulder hurt a lot? Do you want me to massage it?” He looked up at Kyro with his large, glassy eyes shining like two pools of liquid light.

“I’m fine,” Kyro said quickly, wiping the frown from his face. As much as he wanted to selfishly take advantage of Tristan’s offer, he felt bad for making him worry. “I’m just tired, let’s sleep.” Without another word, he climbed into Tristan’s bed and rolled over, brows knitted together as he silently mouthed curses at Frey’s existence. Tristan sighed and shook his head, wondering what caused Kyro to have such a sudden mood shift. It reminded him of when he had first arrived in Tieria, always on edge and extremely temperamental. Tristan quietly got into bed as well and tried to get some rest. Kyro had a habit of randomly showing up in his room and deciding to sleep there, so Tristan soon became accustomed to him being around more often than not. He eventually drifted off to sleep, unconsciously gravitating toward Kyro’s warmth.

Kyro woke with a start the next morning, feeling a familiar presence over by the bedroom door that was slightly ajar.  _ Great, now he’s got me seeing things _ , he thought irritably. Kyro’s instincts told him Frey had just been standing by the door, but that was preposterous, as the feeling of the other’s aura disappeared just as soon as he had registered it, instead of moving away gradually. He frowned in consternation but his temper abated when he saw Tristan nestled against him. Kyro reached out a hand to lightly brush a few errant locks of golden hair from Tristan’s face before stealthily slipping out of bed. After quickly cleaning up in his own room, he crept downstairs and through the castle until he reached the barracks.

Even that early in the morning it was bustling with activity, especially given the late night arrival of Frey’s division. Kyro casually chatted with his friends in the castle guard, trying to get a read on Frey and his soldiers. The survey came back mainly positive - the soldiers under Frey were all extremely loyal and capable, honorable men that would die for their country. A great number of them were said to be highly skilled aura users, as well. Of course Frey himself was no exception, although many did think he had a cold and haughty personality. He was still highly respected and trusted by most, however.

Eventually Kyro had loitered around long enough for the man in question to appear. Frey emerged from the barracks in a fitted black military suit, simply decorated but still quite refined and dignified. All the soldiers under his command snapped to attention regardless of what they were in the middle of doing and saluted, greeting him in unison. Frey nodded his head slightly, indicating that they could remain at ease. Kyro was just thinking what an arrogant prick he was when they made eye contact. Frey frowned at Kyro’s presence, striding over with his hands behind his back.

“What is your business here?” he asked curtly.

“I’m friends with the castle guards. Sometimes I train with them.” Kyro stood his ground, crossing his arms in front of him and staring Frey straight in the eye.

Frey was silent for a moment before raising an arched eyebrow.

“I’m sorry to hear you all were in such dire need of a sparring partner while we were gone that you had to settle for...such a poor substitute.” Frey addressed the courtyard of guardsmen, ignoring Kyro in front of him. Kyro bristled visibly, itching to throw his fist at Frey’s annoyingly perfect face. The guardsmen who knew firsthand how short Kyro’s fuse was all backed away, wondering if a duel of epic proportions was about to break out.

“Frey!” A clear voice called out from the entryway. “And...Kyro?” Tristan jogged into the tense courtyard, seeing Kyro glaring daggers at an impassive Frey. “I’m not sure why you’re here as well but that saves time on hunting you down - come, let’s eat breakfast.” Tristan obliviously grabbed both of their wrists and hauled them to one of the castle’s larger gardens, leaving behind a courtyard full of mystified and bewildered soldiers.

A large circular table was set up in the center of the garden with a sumptuous spread of food laid out on top. Although there was a cool wind, the sun was still shining brightly overhead, making for pleasant early autumn weather. Fall flowers bloomed around the well manicured garden while some trees began to sport vividly colored leaves. Tristan had barely sat down before launching into his questions from the night before.

“So, how was the campaign? Since you guys came back so early, it must have gone well, right? Tell me everything.”

Frey slowly sat down and glanced at Kyro out of the corner of his eye.

“Your Highness, I don’t think it wise to discuss such matters of the state in front of...outsiders,” he said frankly.

“What-” Tristan began to protest before Kyro quickly cut him off.

“I have no desire to be where I am unwanted,” Kyro said sharply, glaring at Frey with cold eyes. “I’ll catch up with you later, alright?” His voice softened to a gentle timbre as he tenderly caressed the back of Tristan’s neck with his fingers before leaving the two alone. Kyro’s face iced over as he walked away. He didn’t know what Frey’s game was, but he figured it would be best to let them speak in private first. Kyro was certain that if Frey had any important information, Tristan would tell him afterward.

“You don’t have to worry about Kyro, Frey. I trust him with my life. And you can drop the ‘your highnesses,’ it’s just us now.” Tristan unconsciously reached toward the back of his neck, feeling the place where Kyro had touched him heat up. He was a bit sad that Kyro had run off, but perhaps it was for the best. He figured it would take a while for Frey to warm up to Kyro, anyway.

" Tristan,” Frey sighed. “That’s what I’m afraid of. I don’t trust him one bit.” Frey knew most of what the two of them had been through, at least publicly, from regular reports Cytus sent him. Other bits and pieces of the past half year were filled in from Tristan’s personal letters. “How could you believe in the words of a stranger so easily? You know how devious your uncle can be,” he said quietly.

“You don’t know him like I do,” Tristan insisted. “And when you do, you’ll see what an amazing person he is. Look at me!” He flexed his small but toned arm muscles. “I’ve been training with him and learning how to fight. I’ve never been in better shape.”

Frey was indeed impressed with how healthy Tristan had become; growing up he was always a sickly child, staying indoors and reading books all day. Even his aura, Frey could feel, was somehow clearer and stronger than before. He almost seemed like a completely different person from the anxious and gaunt teenager he had left behind in Lorelai roughly seven months ago. Even his personality was brighter and more open. However, Frey’s fears were still not assuaged.

" Yes, because nearly being eaten by a mountain worm is the peak of your physical condition,” Frey said dryly.

“That...that was all my fault,” Tristan mumbled. “And further proof that Kyro is to be trusted. He almost d-died saving me...” His voice trailed off, stuttering as he recalled the traumatic events from two months ago. “Anyways, for now just tell me about how your trip was.”

Although Frey was still not sold on allowing Kyro to remain by Tristan’s side, he put the matter to rest for the moment and complied with Tristan’s request. Frey recounted in great detail how his division had set out for the northwest border, having to stop intermittently to deal with small towns and villages that were attacked by Versan raid parties. The northwest front was a great expanse of open plains, barely marred by a few soft, rolling hills. The Versal side had a massive encampment of soldiers erected, tents as far as the eye could see. All Frey could do was set up his own army similarly, blocking their path forward. There was actually not much fighting, for neither army had yet developed the conviction for a full scale battle. Both sides scouted each other out, the most interaction being skirmishes over assaults on supply routes or raiders trying to slip through.

Eventually, after several unsuccessful negotiations, Frey was finally able to establish a tenuous ceasefire. The weather would quickly turn for the worse that far north and both sides needed their men back home in preparation for the coming winter. So both armies agreed to pack up and return, with the expectation to meet again in the spring.

Tristan listened intently, brows drawn together in deep thought. When he ascended the throne, he honestly had no idea how to deal with the situation. On one hand, yes, his uncle had deceived and wronged them, but on the other hand, they were the ones who murdered his parents like cheap mercenaries.

“Frey...” he said quietly. “I know why Versal is so hostile toward us now.” Tristan’s voice was barely a whisper as he explained his findings about Darius’s treachery. Tears slipped from his eyes as he balled his fists, nails digging into the flesh of his palms. Frey got up and pulled Tristan into a hug, patting his head in reassurance. Tristan hugged him tightly, comforted by the familiar scent. He felt infinite relief at having Frey back, for no one but him knew of the years he spent struggling alone in darkness. Only Frey had stayed by his side, protecting him from those who would do a small, defenseless child harm.

“I don’t know what to do,” he sniffled, looking up at Frey sadly.

“We’ll figure it out,” Frey said softly, using his thumbs to wipe the tears from Tristan’s cheeks. “For now, take some deep breaths and calm down. We still have to attend the council meeting.”

Tristan nodded sullenly and buried his face back in Frey’s jacket, wanting to act like a spoiled kid for just a little while longer.

The Grand Council meeting was essentially a long report of Frey’s time away at the northwest front, all eyes on him as he finally finished speaking.

“Not an ideal solution, but good work for now, General.” Darius frowned slightly despite giving Frey praise - he wanted to crush Versal decisively and definitely as soon as possible. “When can the army redeploy?”

“Your Highness, with all due respect the northern winters are incredibly harsh and debilitating. Our men are weary and need time to recover their morale. I think it best to wait until spring, as agreed upon, to move out again.”

Darius’s frown deepened upon hearing Frey’s response.

“What if those wretched Versans break the terms of the ceasefire and mobilize early?”

Tristan could see Frey’s eyebrow move a fraction of an inch.  _ The only one who would renege on such an agreement would be you, Uncle _ , he thought bitterly.

“I have already considered that and instructed the closest garrison to make regular scouting missions along the border to ensure there are no surprises. I hope that is satisfactory, Your Highness.” Frey spoke in a respectful but detached tone.

“Alright, as long as you double whatever frequency you originally set,” Darius said gruffly.

Frey inclined his head slightly and sat down without another word.

“So then, how should we celebrate and reinvigorate our troops now that they’re back?” Darius polled the councilmen.

“How about a King’s Tourney, Your Highness?” one of the chief financial and economics councilmen suggested. Tieria had not had one since Tristan’s father was alive, as per its namesake, it was supposed to be presided by and in honor of the current king. “The Crown Prince will have his coronation in just a few months, I think it would be a grand event to lift everyone’s spirits.”

Darius pondered for a moment before agreeing.

“Alright, then. Go ahead and proceed with all the necessary preparations. It will be held in two weeks’ time.”

He waved his hand, dismissing the congregation. Tristan could barely contain his excitement, giving Frey a rushed farewell before dashing out of the meeting chamber. He ran through the castle at full speed until he found Kyro working out in the courtyard connected to his suite. He had never gone over to Kyro’s side before, as they had always held their training sessions at Tristan’s, and was surprised to see Kyro surrounded by several training dummies and racks of different weapons - although one held only sabers. He was practicing hand to hand combat against a sandbag stuffed inside an old suit of armor.

“We’re having a King’s Tourney!” Tristan shouted.

Kyro stopped mid-punch; he wasn’t surprised by Tristan’s presence as Kyro felt him the moment he stepped upstairs, but his words baffled him.

“A what now?”

“A King’s Tourney. It’s a fighting tournament, people from all over Tieria will gather to watch or take part.” Tristan’s eyes glittered. “And I’m going to participate.”

Kyro’s eyes widened, suddenly caught between mixed feelings. Half of him wanted Tristan to feel the frenzy of battle, to experience the thrill of being consumed by bloodlust in an all out attack. The other half was deathly afraid of Tristan getting hurt.

“Are you sure?” Kyro asked calmly. “You will be going against people who have years of training, I can’t imagine you’ll come out unhurt.”

“Yes,” Tristan nodded firmly. “I still have half a month to prepare, you’ll help me, right?” Tristan didn’t care about winning any glory or adoration from his people, all he wanted to do was make Kyro proud and perhaps, look a little more competent in his eyes. Tristan had been relying on Kyro’s strength all this time and wanted to prove even just the tiniest bit that he was capable of standing beside him.

“Alright, but your training is just going to get harder from here on out,” Kyro agreed finally. “What’s the prize, anyway? Don’t tournaments usually have some kind of grand prize?”

“Well, the runner-ups historically receive a monetary reward while the champion gets a boon from the current king.”

Kyro whistled expectantly, interest piqued.

  
“Oh, I am  _ so  _ entering,” he grinned ruthlessly, sending a shiver down Tristan’s spine.


	13. Chapter 13

Tristan thought his bones would break from how hard Kyro was beating down on him. True to his words, Kyro significantly upped the intensity of their training, from an increased work out load to longer and more fierce rounds of sparring. Tristan began to wonder if he was merely acting as a punching bag for Kyro to prepare for the tournament instead of the other way around. They had decided to keep his participation a secret from Frey, since knowing his personality, he would absolutely not allow Tristan to enter. He would be registering under a false identity anyway, and would not reveal himself until he was knocked out of the competition.

The tournament was formatted in several rounds, starting with regional preliminaries to qualify and then working through a single elimination bracket. The qualifier rounds would be held locally throughout the four districts of Tieria, the week before the actual event. The top five combatants from each district, with the addition of four challengers from Lorelai alone, would compete for glory and honor in front of thousands of spectators. For added excitement, the Lorelai preliminaries would be held the first day of the week-long tournament. The bracket itself would be filled randomly as the final participants drew numbers, with two lucky individuals getting a bye match before the semi-finals.

Kyro felt quite confident in his odds of winning. He was likewise pleased with the progress Tristan had made during their intensive bootcamp, but was still anxious about who he could possibly be matched against. It was heard that Frey, along with many of his top soldiers, would be participating as well. Kyro himself was conflicted about fighting Frey, arrogantly assuming both of them would end up in the finals. If either of them were knocked out before they were able to cross swords, the other would never live it down.

When sign-ups were opened for the Lorelai preliminary, Kyro and Tristan were faced with the problem of how to disguise the conspicuous crown prince. Tristan tried on a variety of hats and clothing in every combination, but no matter what, was still recognizable in some way.

“Why do you stand out so much,” Kyro groaned, kicking a rejected pile of hats in exasperation.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help the way I look,” Tristan shot back. They finally settled on a hooded cloak and a full face mask, at least for getting through the registration process. When Tristan was on the battlefield, there would be enough distance between him and the onlookers for some leeway in his disguise. The sign-up stall was situated in the main city square, beside a large bubbling fountain. It was manned by a couple of bored castle guards. Since the capital city was primarily home to nobles or merchants, outside of the military ranks, there weren’t many capable of or interested in competing.

“Kyro, you gonna enter the tourney?” One of the guards spotted him, waving him over.

“Garrvin,” Kyro grinned, clasping the older man’s forearm in greeting. “You bet, just watch me win the whole damn thing.”

Garrvin laughed heartily, always amused by Kyro’s gusto and unrivaled ego.

“I don’t know, with General Blackwood and his men back there’s going to be some stiff competition.” Spotting Tristan standing off to the side, he jerked his chin toward the ominous figure and asked, “What about him?”

“This,” Kyro said, putting his arms around Tristan’s shoulder and dragging him forward, “Is my very shy friend...Harry...Butts. He would also like to sign up for the tourney.”

“Mister...Butts, is it?” Garrvin asked Tristan doubtfully. Tristan nodded his head slowly, fighting back the urge to drown Kyro in the fountain.

“Okay then...well, these bracelets are confirmation of your registration.” He clipped a thin, silver ring around each of their wrists after writing their names down on a sheet of paper. “If it’s taken off or broken any time before your match, your entry is void. Good luck getting through the preliminaries.”

Kyro waved goodbye as the two of them walked away, feeling incredibly pumped. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder as Tristan’s hand clamped down on it tightly.

“Harry... _ Butts _ ?” Tristan seethed under his breath.

“Ow - Tristan - please - I’m sorry, I panicked, okay?” Kyro whispered back, tapping on Tristan’s arm for mercy. He let out a sigh of relief as Tristan released his deathgrip, rubbing his aching shoulder. “It’s not like we came up with a name for you beforehand, so I just said the first thing that came to mind.”

Tristan let out an exasperated groan and rolled his eyes, although his annoyed expression was hidden by his mask. He quickly exited the square without waiting for Kyro to catch up.

After a few days of receiving the cold shoulder from Tristan, the start of the tournament had finally arrived. The third level of Lorelai’s city structure was its mercantile and entertainment center. A good portion of it was a large, built-in amphitheater, specifically for sporting events or performances. The city was full of travelers from all parts of the kingdom, excited for a week of recreation and leisure. Tristan was a ball of nerves beside Kyro in the participant tent, under his mask and hood. He could hear Darius addressing the crowd from the royal box suite, overlooking the entire stadium. Tristan had convinced Cytus he was feeling under the weather, prompting his uncle to oversee the day’s proceedings. There were twelve individuals from Lorelai vying for the remaining four spots in the tournament: Kyro, Tristan, Frey, three young nobles looking to gain attention, and six seasoned warriors from the military. The preliminaries were a double elimination bracket, where winning two matches from the start would secure one a spot in the main tournament. After the first loss, challengers would drop down into the loser’s bracket where only one person would earn the remaining spot after potentially fighting eight more rounds, in the worst case scenario. Although participants were allowed to utilize whatever weapons they desired, lethal force was prohibited. Once a combatant was knocked unconscious or otherwise incapacitated, the match would be over.

Luckily, all three of them were in separate groups and wouldn’t cross paths unless more than one of them fell into the loser’s bracket. Frey, who was in the first group to fight, easily dominated his opponents and took the first spot of four. The crowd cheered for him wildly, a suspiciously large portion of the voices being female.  _ Show-off _ , Kyro thought with disdain.

“Are you nervous?” He turned to Tristan, both of them standing off to the side, avoiding Frey’s warriors. Since Frey had left the waiting zone, Tristan removed his mask and cloak. He tied his hair up in a high ponytail and wore a wide bandana around his forehead with a matching scarf obscuring the lower half of his face. Unlike most other fighters who were clad in heavy armor, he wore simple and light protective gear in the form of a leather chest guard, bracers, and greaves. Although fatal force was banned in the competition, he had gotten the castle blacksmith to sharpen his saber’s blade into a true edge.

“Very,” Tristan mumbled in response.

His group was up next, his opponent being one of the young nobles. Kyro massaged Tristan’s shoulders to loosen him up, feeding him words of encouragement.

“You’ve got this, there’s no way a student of mine would be beaten by some pampered brat.” Kyro gave Tristan a reassuring smile.

“Yes, because I’m most definitely not a pampered brat either,” Tristan snorted.

Kyro’s words raised Tristan’s spirits a little, but also put even more pressure on him.

“I believe in you, Tristan, you can do this.” Kyro gave him a shove as the announcer called his name, pushing him onto the stage.

“Challenging Sir Edward Spyren is...Harry Butts!”

The crowd applauded noisily as Tristan clumsily walked into everyone’s sight. A large raised platform was in the middle of the stage - the fighting ring. Waiting atop the platform was his opponent, a tall and muscular youth probably around Kyro’s age, staring down at him with a cocky smile. Tristan tried to keep his distance as they shook hands, not wanting to be recognized, and soon the fight had begun.

_ I can do this _ , Tristan told himself as Edward made the first move. He was wearing the less cumbersome type of metal armor that consisted of several individual pieces strapped onto the body and held a traditional longsword in his hands. Edward swung at Tristan, causing him to deftly sidestep.  _ This guy’s got nothing on Kyro even when he was hurt _ , he thought with surging confidence.

Tristan went on the offensive and sent out a flurry of strikes with his saber, pushing Edward back as he struggled to block the quick hits with his hefty sword. They exchanged blows several times, going back and forth around the ring. Tristan could tell Edward probably wasn’t used to prolonged fights and didn’t have the stamina necessary to continue wielding his sword so he increased his speed, heavily pressuring Edward into a corner. After working him down a little while longer, Tristan was able to knock Edward’s sword out of his hand, saber poised by his neck.

“The winner is Harry Butts!”

Cheers erupted from along the amphitheater as the match concluded. Tristan waved at the crowd, breathing heavily as adrenaline continued to rush through his body; he couldn’t believe he had won.

“Fuck yeah, that’s my student!” Kyro yelled from the sidelines, jumping up and down with a huge grin on his face. Tristan turned to wave at him, eyes bright with excitement, when he immediately stopped smiling and paled.

“Oh, shit.”

Frey stood behind Kyro, his face an unreadable mask. Tristan knew the less emotions Frey showed, the angrier he was. Tristan jumped off the platform and ran over to them, where Kyro was now being roughly held by the back of his neck. Frey grabbed Tristan’s wrist and dragged them back inside the tent.

“Are you out of your  _ minds _ ?” Frey said in a tone so cold, Kyro thought it would begin to snow. He was honestly unsurprised and expected that Frey would be able to recognize Tristan. In fact, Kyro had already assumed that those closest to Tristan, such as Darius and Cytus, would figure out his identity.

“It was my idea, Frey! I wanted to participate.” Tristan looked up at Frey, violet eyes sparking with conviction.

“It doesn’t matter what you want, do you know how much danger you put yourself in? You could have seriously gotten hurt.” Frey’s voice was hard but did not lack concern. He tightened his grip on the back of Kyro’s neck before continuing, “You are a terrible influence on him, I can’t believe you’ve been allowed to stay by his side for this long.”

“Hey!” Kyro said sharply, wrenching himself out of Frey’s grasp. “Tristan is incredibly talented and hard working, he deserves to be supported and encouraged. Maybe he wouldn’t have been so scared his whole life if you believed in his own strength just a little, instead of keeping him in a glass box!”

Frey’s eyes iced over, a murderous look in them. Tristan had never seen him so furious before. Kyro stared back with equal malice, eyes blazing with ferocity. Just as Frey’s hand moved toward the sword at his waist, Tristan jumped between them.

“Enough! I’ll withdraw from the tournament, okay?”

They both looked down at him as he continued to speak.

“Frey’s right, it was foolish and unwise to enter the tourney.”

Frey seemed to calm down slightly upon hearing Tristan’s words, resuming his standoffish pose, while Kyro bristled angrily.

“But,” Tristan said. “I don’t regret entering one bit. I’m proud of myself for winning even against a weak opponent, and it was all due to Kyro’s help.” He turned to Kyro and gave him a sincere smile, taking his warm hands into his own. “Thank you for giving me the confidence to fight.”  _ It was you I was fighting for. _ “I know you’ll get far in the tourney and I’ll be watching from above. So just focus on your matches, okay?” He gave a light squeeze before releasing their hands and exiting the tent, Frey silently following behind him.

Kyro watched them go, the urge to viciously kick something getting the best of him as he slammed his boot into one of the metal poles supporting the tent. The second match of Tristan’s group was wrapping up and soon it would be Kyro’s turn. His mood remained foul for the rest of the day, taking out his anger on his unfortunate opponents. He swept through his group to claim the third spot in the tournament, but he didn’t even feel like celebrating. Kyro stalked off the stage, not even glancing upward to see Tristan watching him from above. He ran back to the castle and locked himself in his room, refusing to come out until the following morning.

Along with the other twenty-three participants, Kyro had to make an appearance on the first true day of the tournament match-ups. They were drawing lots to determine how the pairs would be set up, each picking a number that would place them in a starting position on the double ended bracket. Kyro’s luck landed him in the path of one of the two coveted byes while Frey was in the other half of the contestant pool.  _ Perfect, I can’t wait to grind his face into the dirt in the finals _ . Based on the overall schedule, he would fight one match every other day until the last day, where he expected to be in both the semi-finals and the grand final. After the opening ceremonies, Kyro immediately left the amphitheater, uninterested in watching any of the matches, even if they were of his potential opponents. As far as he was concerned, the only rival in his sights was Frey.

Tristan’s eyes followed Kyro’s figure as he left, concerned about the dark cloud hanging over him.

“He’ll be fine,” Frey said from the seat beside him; his first match was not for two more days. Tristan looked over at him, brows furrowed.

“You don’t have to be so hard on him, you know.” Tristan himself was slightly upset with Frey’s behavior, seeing such a harsh side to him for the first time.

“Tristan,” Frey said softly. “You know I’m just looking out for you. When I finish my observation of him, if he’s completely faultless I will say no more on the matter.” He reached out to touch Tristan’s hand that lay on the chair’s armrest, but Tristan drew it back and turned away, pouting. Frey sighed, wondering when the small and cute child that always clung to his leg had grown up to be such a willful teenager.

As the tournament went on, the excitement continued to grow until it was the last day. The two semi-final matches occurred in the morning, both breathtaking and dramatic to watch in their own rights, but everyone waited with bated breath for the final match. Kyro had impressed and stunned the citizens of Tieria with his whirlwind performance, quickly and decisively knocking out his opponents with his foreign martial arts prowess. No one thought of him as the crown prince’s frivolous and leisurely companion ever again. Frey, who had always been the crowd favorite, did not disappoint either. He took down his competitors with the feral beauty and elegance of a predator skilled in the art of death. A great deal of wealth was passed to eager bookies, tremendous bets placed on either side.

Tristan barely watched the ostentatious performances that were occurring during the intermission, nervously biting his lip.  _ They’re both...somewhat rational adults _ , he told himself.  _ It’s just for sport, they absolutely won’t kill each other...I think. _ He groaned, putting his head in his hands. Tristan didn’t even know if he had the courage to watch the match. He couldn’t bear to see either of them getting hurt, let alone clawing at each other’s throats. When the time finally came for him to announce the start of the finals, Tristan felt like he was going to throw up.

“People of Tieria,” he began, furiously gripping the stone balcony to stabilize himself, “I thank you all for traveling so far to participate in and witness this King’s Tourney. As your future king, I vow to lead us into an even more prosperous future through the support of our celebrated troops and your goodwill.” The stadium erupted in cheers, not quieting down for a long time. Tristan raised his hand to calm the crowd down before finishing, “Now let us conclude this historic event with an unforgettable display of talent and enjoy the post-tournament feast together!”

The cheers grew even louder as Kyro and Frey took to the stage, the two brusquely shaking hands before putting distance between themselves. Tristan dragged his chair to the very edge of the balcony, restlessly switching between looking and not looking. Kyro wore light clothing and similar armor to what Tristan himself had worn, a serious and deadly look in his eyes. The most surprising part was the fact that he had two sheaths hanging from each side of his waist - in all his previous matches, he had only brought one sword into the arena.  _ That bastard has been hiding his true strength this whole time _ , Tristan thought with a wry smile. If Frey was also surprised, he did not show it. His face was placid as usual, taciturn calmness giving him a serene air as if he were meditating and not on a battlefield. Frey wore his iconic black armor, the midday sun glinting off its reflective surface.

The two stood silent for a few moments, an expectant hush falling over the crowd. Suddenly and without warning, they both sprang into action, metal flashing faster than the eye could see. Kyro crossed his two sabers to block a downward stroke from Frey, pushing back the enormous pressure of Frey’s attack to disengage. They stepped around each other, striking and falling back, at an intense pace. Kyro was masterful with his swords, fluidly cutting through the air with his sabers sometimes moving in tandem while other times striking independently. Meanwhile, Frey swung his longsword in graceful and precise arcs like it weighed nothing more than a child’s toy, not a single movement wasted or out of place.

They seemed evenly matched for the most part, until Kyro’s actions began to grow wilder and wilder. He started to assail Frey with martial arts moves, even sheathing his sabers at some points only to draw them out again at a moment’s notice, trying to catch Frey off guard. Kyro pushed into Frey’s personal space, preventing him from making full use of his sword’s long range. He used his aura to sense the direction and angle at which Frey’s sword came at him, accurately deflecting the blows along the sword’s face. Eventually Frey abandoned his sword as well, the two locked in an all out fist to foot brawl. Kyro increased the ferocity of his attacks, jumping and spinning in the air to kick at Frey’s head, only to be blocked by his rock solid form. While Kyro was fast and spontaneous, Frey was stable and powerful.

They broke apart momentarily, catching their breath and reforming their mental tactics. So far both had gotten glancing blows off each other at best, a shallow cut here or there. Kyro was growing impatient and frustrated at how poised Frey remained, deciding to launch an all out frenzy. They drew their swords once more as the crowd roared, resuming their deadly dance.

Kyro spun his sabers around in a lethal windmill, advancing upon Frey. The other struck back with precision, trying to knock the swords out of Kyro’s grasp. They paused and paced in a wide circle several times before both of them rushed at each other, cruel metal slicing through the air. Just before the scrape of steel on steel could ring throughout the arena, Kyro froze. He could feel his heart stop beating as he locked eyes with Frey, primal fear consuming him.

“Tristan’s in danger,” he blurted, his head snapping to the direction of the viewing box that had become its own life and death arena.

Frey had stopped his sword just as it bit through Kyro’s flesh, crimson blood beginning to leak from his side. His face was reticent as he quickly followed Kyro’s gaze, frowning at the commotion taking place on the balcony. While everyone’s eyes were on the two’s mesmerizing fight, assassins had taken out the standing guards and were bearing down upon Tristan and Darius, the latter of which was prone on the ground, holding a bloodied arm. Three masked assassins had pushed both of them to the edge of the balcony, leaving them nowhere to run. Tristan had been holding them back to some effect, broken and upturned furniture the result of their skirmish. The crowd grew quiet in confusion at Kyro and Frey’s change in demeanor as attention was soon drawn to the attack. People began to scream as guards flooded into the stadium, but they were much too far away to reach them in time.

Kyro suddenly grabbed Frey’s shoulder and stared him straight in the eyes, speaking fervently.

“ _ Launch me. _ ”

Frey immediately understood Kyro’s intention, sheathing his sword and dashing to the base of the stone wall that led up to the balcony. He stood still for a moment, exhaling powerfully with his eyes closed. All of a sudden, a second Frey materialized, promptly standing across from the original. They mirrored each other and linked hands before looking back at Kyro with a nod. Kyro took a few steps back before sprinting toward the pair at a breakneck speed. When it looked like he was about to crash into them, he stepped into their hands at the last second and with the help of Frey’s doubled strength, shot into the air at an explosive speed.

Kyro just managed to clear the overhang that was suspended several stories high, carefully landing on the edge. He swiftly beheaded the closest assassin to his left with a cross wise slash from his swords, spraying hot blood everywhere. Tristan instantly ducked, one to get out of Kyro’s way and two, because he had no strength left in his legs. Kyro continued his rampage as he spun and violently slammed his heel into the face of the next assassin on his right, a sickening crack resounding as the body dropped to the floor. The third and final assassin who stood before him, to his credit, attempted to strike out at Kyro with his sword. However, Kyro skillfully knocked aside the blows that felt like the tickle of a feather compared to Frey’s with a swing of each hand before savagely stabbing both his sabers into the center of the man’s gut, finishing him off by pulling them apart in opposite directions. The man let out a blood-curdling shriek as he was disemboweled, intestines and other vital organs spilling out onto the floor with a nauseatingly wet sound. He collapsed in a grisly heap, a terrifying picture surrounded by a pool of blood.

Frey and several guards had finally made it to the top - all panting and out of breath from running up several flights of stairs except for Frey, who remained composed - just in time to witness the assassin’s disturbing death throes. The guards paused, each wearing a variation of abject horror and disgust on their faces, before rushing over to help Darius to his feet, extracting him from the grotesque scene. Kyro had sheathed his dripping swords and was kneeling by Tristan’s side, checking his condition. Tristan stood up shakily before vomiting off to the side. Confirming that Kyro had Tristan under his protection, Frey wordlessly left to command the remainder of the guards and secure the chaotic scene.

Tristan must have passed out at some point, for he awoke in his bed with no recollection of having made the journey back to the castle. Kyro sat directly beside him while Frey was seated in a chair by the edge of the bed. Tristan slowly pushed himself up and groaned, reeling from the residual nausea. Kyro held his shoulder and back to keep him steady.

“How are you feeling?” Kyro asked.

“I’m fine,” he sighed. “Although it would be nice to not wake up with the phantom feeling of blood all over me.” Tristan grimaced before climbing out of bed; he had been changed and cleaned on the surface level like before, but still had a desperate and immediate need to bathe. The two watched silently as he made his way over to the bathroom, grumbling the entire time.

“You know, he’s becoming increasingly cavalier about his near death experiences,” Kyro said offhandedly, sliding over to sit on the edge of the bed by Frey. He wasn’t sure if this callous change in Tristan was a good or bad thing; perhaps it was just one of his many defense mechanisms.

“I could have killed you,” Frey said quietly, turning to Kyro with a piercing gaze.

Kyro leaned back casually, supporting himself with one arm behind him while the other patted the bulge of bandages on his side.

“But you didn’t.” The corner of his mouth curved upward ever so slightly.

Frey frowned, immensely tired of Kyro’s flippant and cocky attitude.

“Tristan’s life is not a joke or something to be gambled with,” Frey said icily.

Kyro’s expression immediately sobered up as he faced Frey, his eyes hard and jaw set.

“Don’t you  _ ever  _ think that I act without careful consideration when it comes to him.” He glared at Frey before jabbing a finger into his chest. “I trusted that you would put him first too, even with my own life on the line. Maybe you should extend that same level of trust to me.” Kyro sneered before turning away, sick of looking at Frey’s presumptuous and condescending face.

Frey was silent for a bit, digesting Kyro’s words.

“How  _ did  _ you know he was being attacked?” he finally asked, curiosity getting the best of him. Frey refused to believe that Kyro was capable of fighting him to that degree while also somehow keeping an eye on the far off balcony.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Kyro snorted, making a disrespectful face at Frey. A small vein appeared on Frey’s forehead, causing him to use every ounce of self-control he could muster to keep calm in the face of Kyro’s immature taunting. The fact of the matter was, however, that Kyro wasn’t entirely sure. He had spent months subconsciously keeping tabs on Tristan and monitoring his condition, that when his aura had gone haywire, he instinctively knew something was wrong.

Although Frey hated Kyro’s guts and arrogant demeanor, he could not deny the strength of his loyalty to Tristan. Plus, at least objectively speaking, Frey approved of his quick thinking and brutality when Tristan’s life was in danger. So for the time being, he put his crusade against Kyro to rest. But Frey swore to himself the moment Kyro stepped out of line even the tiniest bit, he would be the first person to inflict a punishment worse than death upon him.

They didn’t say another word to each other until Tristan returned, looking revived and considerably less ashen than when he had woken up. He leaned back in his bed, gently squeezing water out of his hair with a dry cloth before speaking.

“Well. That was absolutely terrifying but I hope my uncle thinks twice about sending assassins after me whenever he looks at the scar on his arm,” he said derisively.

“You did well to hold off the assassins,” Kyro said. “I’m proud of you, three on one isn’t easy.”

Tristan felt some heat creeping into his cheeks that were already flushed from the hot bath. “S-see, I’m not impossible to teach after all,” he stammered. His face quickly changed to an excited expression when he remembered something that was on his mind. “Oh, by the way, I’ve decided to declare both of you as the winners.”

Kyro and Frey looked at each other and then at Tristan like he was crazy.

“I mean, it would be worse not to have a winner at all, right? Plus it was undoubtedly a joint effort by which you saved me, so I don’t think anyone will protest.” Tristan looked very pleased with himself, to the point where Kyro and Frey could only comply with his decree. “So, what do you two request of your thankfully-still-breathing-and-soon-to-be-king?”

If it were even just a few hours ago, Frey would have unhesitatingly asked Tristan to send Kyro away. But due to the recent developments in his opinion of Kyro, he simply asked Tristan to act with a little more prudence and consideration for his position and well-being. Tristan expected such an appeal from Frey, who never showed interest in anything material or vaguely hedonistic, so he smiled and sincerely promised that he would.

“Kyro?” he asked, turning to the other.

Kyro shrugged nonchalantly, there was really nothing on his mind at the moment.

“I’ll take a raincheck,” he said.

Tristan merely nodded in acceptance, unsure if cashing in a boon at a later date was even allowed - it wasn’t like he had a lot of experience in the matter.

“Now that this riveting ordeal has come to a close,” Frey said dryly, “You two should get some rest.  _ In your own beds _ .”

Due to the disastrous end to the tournament, the previously scheduled afterparty feast at the castle had been cancelled. Frey got up to leave, giving the two a scathing look before shutting the door behind him. Kyro made a rude gesture at the air before kicking back in the bed. He looked over at Tristan, who was now quietly sitting still with a blank look on his face. Kyro sat back up in a proper sitting position and used his shoulder to nudge Tristan gently.

“You sure you’re alright?” he asked softly.

Tristan nodded gingerly before leaning back against the headboard and closing his eyes. Kyro wordlessly held his hand, understanding that he just needed time to process the day’s events. After a while Tristan slid down under the covers and turned onto his side, facing toward Kyro. Kyro copied him, until they were looking at each other from the same position.

“How did you know?” Tristan asked.

Kyro knew what he was referring to without him specifying.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully, brows furrowed in thought. “One minute I was so focused on fighting Frey, then the next all I could feel was how scared you were.” Kyro gripped Tristan’s hand tighter, his mouth set in a tight line. Tristan’s eyes glistened with tears that threatened to fall; he blinked them back, summoning strength from deep within him.

“For the record, I always believed you could win.”

Kyro laughed darkly, shaking his head in dejection.

“No, it was my complete and utter loss,” he said with resentment. “I threw everything I had at him - I couldn’t even slow him down with my aura. He’s that strong,  _ and  _ he wasn’t even using his double.” Kyro sulked, bitter over the obvious difference in their level of skill.

“He has a few years on you, I’m sure when you get to his age you’ll be just as strong.” Tristan yawned, eyelids beginning to droop.

Kyro smiled, watching contentedly as Tristan started to nod off, carefully scooting closer until their foreheads were just touching. That night, he dreamed of lavender fields and a comfortingly sweet fragrance.


	14. Chapter 14

The days following the now infamous King’s Tourney were blissfully uneventful for the three. Although Kyro had become somewhat of a celebrity overnight, as his and Frey’s magnificent display of skill became a hot topic of discussion, they were able to pass their days without anything major blowing up in their faces. It wasn’t until a week later that they were about to have a drastic change of pace.

Tristan sat in the Grand Council meeting, listening intently to one of the latest reports.

“For the past few months Argo has been plagued by an elusive criminal group, stealing and destroying property indiscriminately. No one knows their true identities, nor have been able to apprehend them. The governor has requested assistance in the matter, for prolonged inaction will negatively impact the economy, the city, and its people.” The councilman sat down after finishing his summary.

Everyone looked toward Darius, wondering how he would respond. He thought for a moment before speaking.

“Argo is one of our largest and most profitable cities. Naturally, we must send some help.” He inclined his head, turning towards Frey. “General Blackwood, assemble a task force to dispose of these eyesores. Be ready to dispatch within a day, I expect the matter to be wrapped up quickly and efficiently.” Darius was about to get up and disband the meeting when Tristan opened his mouth.

“I’m going too.”

All eyes turned to him, a stunned silence falling over the group. Frey frowned almost imperceptibly, but didn’t say anything.

“What do you think you can accomplish by being there?” Darius asked sharply. “You’ll only get in the way, let the General handle it.”

“I think it would be incredibly valuable for me to get some hands-on experience dealing with a crisis, and since General Blackwood will be there, I won’t be in any danger. I’m going, Uncle.” Tristan looked at him squarely, not backing down.

Darius narrowed his eyes in barely hidden contempt, fed up with Tristan’s willfulness.

“Fine, but I’ll leave it up to the General’s discretion. If he thinks you should return, you will obey him.”

Tristan nodded in agreement, excited on the inside but wearing a calm demeanor on his face. The meeting was then adjourned and everyone went their separate ways. Tristan was in a hurry to return to his room, eager to prepare for the trip, when Frey appeared by his side. The two talked quietly as they walked through the castle.

“I do not approve of this,” Frey said flatly.

“I know,” Tristan replied nonchalantly.

Frey pursed his lips, knowing now that Tristan was impossible to dissuade when he had decided on something. Under different circumstances, he could agree with Tristan’s line of thinking. All his life he had been heavily sheltered as the crown prince, not even being allowed to take lessons with other children. Especially at his age, it was no wonder he felt the urge to see farther than the walls of the city. But it was much too close to his coronation and things always seemed to be taking a turn for the worst as of late.

“Frey, I’m not going to have another chance like this before I become king. I want to see with my own two eyes, how my people live and what needs to be done in order to protect them.” Tristan’s eyes were distant, his expression one of fixed determination. By this point they had reached his room, continuing their conversation inside at a higher volume. “Also you don’t have to worry about me, Kyro will be there too.”

At that, Frey’s eyebrow raised a millimeter, displeasure growing within him.

“While Kyro seems to be a capable fighter, this isn’t a vacation. We don’t know how dangerous these thieves are and I won’t be able to focus on catching them if I’m worried about keeping you two out of trouble.”

“It’ll be fine,” Tristan said, his flippant attitude most certainly not helping to ease Frey’s nerves.

Suddenly, the door leading to Kyro’s room burst open and he stood at the threshold, half-naked and dripping water with a towel loosely wrapped around his waist.

“We’re going on vacation?” 

Tristan covered his face with his palm, shaking his head while Frey’s face remained frozen in disdain.

***

Argo was about a three day ride from the capital, directly to the southwest. The mid-autumn weather was fair and clear, allowing them to travel safely and comfortably. Kyro couldn’t be more excited, for Argo was situated around a large bay that fed into the ocean. Having grown up in the heart of a mountain range, the sea was something he couldn’t quite fathom. Kyro wasn’t sure if he would be unsettled or disturbed by seeing endless water as far as the eye could see, but either way, he couldn’t keep still.

“You’ll love it,” Tristan said. “Argo is a beautiful city and the view overlooking the bay is incredible. I think I visited it once when I was very young, so I don’t remember too much, but that’s the impression I got. Also, the endless fresh seafood is to die for.”

Kyro grinned broadly, his sense of adventure spiking.

“At least try to act like you’re royal dignitaries and not common tourists,” Frey sighed in exasperation, pulling up beside them. “The governor has offered his guest house for the duration of your stay, so take care to not get in the way and don’t cause any trouble.” He looked and spoke directly at Kyro.

Kyro stuck out his tongue rudely at Frey and urged his horse faster, pulling to the front of the group.

“I hope he knows how to swim, for I might just kick him into the ocean,” Frey muttered.

Tristan covered his mouth, stifling a laugh. Recently, he had gotten to see several new sides to Frey; before Kyro appeared, nothing could cause any kind of reaction from the stoic general. But although Tristan enjoyed getting out of the city and looked forward to a change of scenery, he agreed wholeheartedly with Frey’s words. This trip was primarily for business, not pleasure.

By late afternoon on the third day, their journey had come to an end. The whitewashed bricks of Argo could be seen off in the distance, forming elegant and classic buildings and houses. Kyro stared hard at the city’s silhouette on the horizon before frowning slightly.

“Where’s the ocean?” he asked.

“You’ll see,” Tristan said mysteriously.

The group pushed forward to the city’s gates, being quickly let in once their identities were confirmed. Kyro’s eyes were wide in awe as he looked upon the splendor of Argo. He had never seen such pristine and neat streets before, and every building or house was in a well maintained condition. Smiling people walked around dressed in clothing that was somewhat of a mix between Rien and Lorelai fashion, more loose and silken but still luxurious and embellished. They wound their way through clean and affluent neighborhoods until they reached the governor’s manor. It was an imposing mansion with a perfectly manicured front lawn.

“Your Highness.” A short and stout middle-aged man was waiting for them by the entrance with a few attendants by his side. “Petro Ventus, Governor of Argo, at your service,” he said respectfully while bowing low. “And the esteemed General Blackwood, thank you so much for coming to our aid.”

As they dismounted and returned the governor’s greetings, several servants appeared to lead their horses away and move their luggage inside.

“Please, come in. We have much to talk about but supper first!” Petro waddled inside, holding the door open for them.

The interior of the manor was just as extravagant as Kyro expected, with high ceilings where delicate chandeliers hung from and expensive looking furniture. Although their group was a bit sizable for a casual dinner party, the three of them plus six of Frey’s best men, Petro’s dining hall had a long table already set for them all. They took their seats, Tristan being given the spot at the head of the table despite his protests, and the first course was served. Kyro didn’t leave a single crumb behind throughout the entire meal, having never tasted such a tasty variety of seafood dishes before. He thought the meal alone was worth the trip.

The conversation over dinner was light and frivolous, as they discussed topics unrelated to the matter at hand. It wasn’t until the meal had concluded and Frey’s men had been dismissed to the guest rooms upstairs that Petro led them into the drawing room. Kyro adamantly stayed by Tristan’s side, refusing to be sent away. They sat around a low table, spread with refreshments that Kyro eagerly snacked on, and began to talk more seriously.

“Please tell us everything regarding the recent bandit attacks,” Tristan said.

Petro lost his merry air, as if deflating before their eyes, when he started to talk.

“The first incident was a few months ago. One of the marketplace warehouses, where a lot of merchants rent space to store their goods to be sold, was broken into. We don’t know how they got in, but a small portion from all the different produce vendors’ stock went missing. Naturally, we set up extra guards and patrols the next day, but a week later the thieves struck again. All of the soldiers claimed to have been suddenly knocked unconscious, and by the time they had come to, couldn’t find a trace of the criminals.” Petro had a worried look on his face, wiping his heavy brow with a handkerchief.

“At first it was just a little bit, here and there. But lately it seems the thieves have gotten bolder, even attacking some of our outgoing trade caravans headed further south. The merchants are angry at the destruction of their property and loss of profits, and the people of the city are scared. Please, if you could apprehend those responsible, we would be eternally grateful.”

Tristan nodded solemnly, swearing that he would bring justice to Argo. By the time the group dispersed for the night, it was late into the evening. Frey went upstairs to one of the unoccupied rooms while Kyro and Tristan were led to the guest house. It was a small detached cottage toward the back of the estate, two stories high and as lavishly decorated as the main house was. Tired from the long days of travel, they quickly washed up and got into bed. The bed was significantly smaller than what they were used to, so the two ended up feeling a little cramped, but it was still comfortable enough that they both fell asleep instantly.

The next day the three of them went to the city guard headquarters early in the morning to gather more information. Frey did most of the talking, acquainting himself with the local officers and asking for any details Petro might have forgotten. All they could tell them was that the soldiers would feel a light sting before being knocked unconscious and that after each robbery, a bent coin was left behind. Frey asked if they could be shown around the marketplace and the warehouse that had been hit, so the four guards going on duty next accompanied them through the city.

Argo’s business district was all the way towards the back of the city, running along a wide main street that was bordered by impressive establishments on each side. Countless smaller alleyways branched out, peppered with boutiques and specialty stores. At each end of the street was a massive warehouse with an open aired market set up in front. One was specifically for the selling of food while the other only handled objects and other material goods. Right in the middle was a large city square, featuring a glamorous fountain not unlike Lorelai’s own.

While Frey and his soldiers investigated the market, Tristan grabbed Kyro’s hand and dragged him away, putting a finger to his lips. He led them back to the square, turning past the fountain. They found themselves in a small park that was set up with benches and soft patches of grass and other flora, but the most important part was a stone paved overlook. Tristan pulled Kyro up the steps to the raised platform with a grin.

Kyro’s eyes went wide in shock, his mouth hanging open slightly as he saw the crescent shaped bay before him, stretching out endlessly into the far off sea. Argo was built at the edge of a cliff, and the only way to see the ocean was to get right up to the brink. He stared at the water as it shifted and glittered in the sunlight, waves lapping against each other. Kyro leaned over the edge of the stone balustrade, surprised to see not more water, but an extensive dock system down below. Massive ships bobbed serenely beside humble sailboats, all securely tied in place. He could make out swarms of people loading and unloading boats or busying themselves in other ways.

“What do you think?” Tristan said, nudging Kyro with his elbow.

“I think it’s breathtaking,” he said with a laugh. He leaned his arms on the railing, inhaling deeply, noting the strangely salty air. Kyro had never seen anything quite like the ocean before, and was captivated by its beauty. “I feel like I could watch it forever,” he murmured.

Tristan stayed by his side in silence, letting him absorb the scene. He couldn’t imagine how overwhelming it must be for Kyro, who was really only familiar with unending rocky mountains and small pools or lakes at best.

“Do you know how to get down there? Can I swim in it?” he asked Tristan eagerly.

“The only way to get up or down the cliff is through lifts inside each of the two warehouses,” a stern voice said from behind them.

Kyro and Tristan turned around to see Frey standing behind them, arms crossed and eyes the color of the ocean depths.

“Honestly, you two need to stop running off at every chance you get,” he scolded.

Tristan looked down in remorse, feeling bad for upsetting Frey, while Kyro had no such reservations.

“We didn’t even go that far,” he waved his hand carelessly. “Was there anything interesting at the warehouse?”

Frey gave Kyro a withering look before shaking his head in response. The warehouse he had visited, which was the one that stocked food, was enormous and kept cold by an aura array that regulated the building’s temperature. It was neatly divided into sections and further compartmentalized by individual merchants. The lifts he mentioned were situated toward the back, moving along the face of the cliff through a mechanized pulley system. There were three small ones, primarily for the movement of people, and two larger ones in between for moving heavy loads of merchandise. After examining all corners of the building, Frey and his men had found nothing out of place.

“We’ll just have to monitor the situation for now and wait for them to make their next move, then,” Tristan said.

Frey nodded, saying he was returning to the municipal district to reorganize the city guard night rotation to include his team as well. He instructed the pair to be back at the governor’s manor before sundown, accepting the fact that it would be impossible to keep them trapped indoors in a foreign city. Kyro and Tristan spent the day touring the rest of the market, stopping into every store they came across and munching on snacks purchased from aromatic street stalls. They were casually dressed and kept to themselves, not looking much different than the locals, so they were able to stroll about in peace, simply appearing like two laid-back youths with too much time on their hands. The city of Argo was so idyllic and charming, it was hard to think it was capable of hosting bandits.

A few days were spent in such a leisurely manner, with no incidents occurring. They were beginning to lose hope that they would be able to catch wind of the thieves quickly. Kyro was up late one night, restless from the slow burning investigation. Deciding to get some fresh air, he shook Tristan awake.

“Tristan, wake up,” he whispered.

“What is it?” Tristan mumbled sleepily, trying to pull the covers over his head.

“I want to go see the ocean at night, come with me.”

The moon had been waxing and that night it would probably be full; Kyro was sure it would be a stunning sight, reflecting over the water, and didn’t want to miss it. Tristan sighed deeply, knowing that the faster they went, the faster he could come back and sleep. They threw on some thick outer robes and crept out into the night on quick, light feet. Kyro led them carefully through the city, easily slipping past guards and watchmen.

By the time they made it to the eerily quiet market square, they could see the moon shining in the sky like a giant pearl. Kyro sighed, standing in the same place he had earlier that day, looking out into the bay. The moon’s reflection on the water fluttered as waves rippled against its outline.

“What do you think is out there?” he said quietly.

Tristan leaned forward over the rail, gazing out past the inlet and into the open waters.

“I don’t know. Maybe we can ask some fishermen tomorrow what they’ve seen,” Tristan replied.

“Don’t you want to see it with your own eyes? I know I do,” Kyro said wistfully.

“You get bored looking at the same road for half a day. I don’t think you could last out there, surrounded only by the singular sight of water,” Tristan snorted.

Kyro gave him a light shove and grinned, knowing he was right.

“Hey, I want to go down to the docks and get a closer look at the water.”

Tristan looked at him like he had two heads.

“What do you mean, we can’t access the lifts at this hour.”

“Why not? The warehouses are being guarded, your identity can be vetted by whoever Frey has on duty, and bam! They let us go use the lift. Who would turn down a request from the one and only Crown Prince?”

“I don’t know, Kyro,” Tristan said warily. “They’re supposed to be on high alert, Frey will be livid if he finds out we were distracting them.”

“You worry too much, Frey would never actually do anything to you,” Kyro said as he grabbed Tristan’s hand and started running toward the end of the long street.

_ It’s not me I’m worried for _ , Tristan thought with a sigh.

They kept to the shadows of the storefronts, still not wanting to draw any attention to themselves, as they got closer to the warehouse that stored food. They were just about to turn the corner into the empty lot that was home to numerous stalls during the day when Kyro abruptly jerked them backward.

“We’ve got company,” he whispered.

Past the far side of the lot were dense trees that marked the city limits - the edges of the cliff that were marked by forest were particularly unstable so Argo never expanded past the natural border of trees. Kyro could feel four people lurking in the forest, not making any movement. They both peeked out around the building they were hiding behind, watching the guard formation in front of the warehouse. Nothing was amiss until one by one, they suddenly fell to the ground. Tristan blinked in surprise, wondering if he had missed something. Kyro’s eyes narrowed. He knew there was a fifth person who attacked the guards; they just couldn’t be seen.

Just as he thought it, a dark figure materialized over one of the guards’ bodies. Tristan blinked again, confused as to how they suddenly appeared. The person bent down to retrieve the key off the guard’s belt, signaling to their companions in the tree line, who then rushed over at their call. Once the warehouse was unlocked, all five of them slipped inside.

“We have to go after them!” Tristan said, a fierce look on his face.

Kyro held him back and shook his head.

“There’s five of them and only two of us. Plus, we’re not even armed. Who knows what kind of weapons they have, especially being able to knock out all the guards almost instantaneously.”

Tristan wilted, unable to argue with Kyro’s sound logic. He was just too excited from spotting the thieves after being idle for so long that he wanted to take action right away. They continued to monitor the warehouse and after a while, the door opened again. What was most surprising was that although all five of them exited, locking the door behind them and returning the key to the guard, they weren’t carrying anything.  _ What the hell _ , Kyro thought.  _ Did they really just break into the warehouse for a midnight snack?  _ They watched as the five forms retreated into the forest, disappearing from sight.

Once they were certain the bandits weren’t coming back, they moved from their hiding places to check on the guards. All of them were still breathing, merely knocked unconscious. Kyro and Tristan exchanged looks, wondering just what was going on.

The next morning was full of movement as everyone rushed to the scene of the crime. Just like the previous times, a small amount of food across all the vendors was stolen. Kyro couldn’t figure out how they moved the food without being seen. At first he thought they were using the lifts for transportation, but after examining the guard rotation schedule found that the docks were patrolled all day and night.

Kyro and Tristan walked back along the main street, discussing what to do.

“We should tell Frey what we saw,” Tristan said. “Maybe he can guess something that we missed.”

Kyro bit his lip in reluctance, feeling like he was in direct competition with Frey again.

“Not yet, I just want to-” he paused mid-sentence, head snapping toward the large fountain. A young girl in a simple pink dress, maybe around Tristan’s age, stood by a small wooden cart selling flowers. Her chestnut brown hair fell to her shoulders, lifting slightly in the breeze. She looked around with jade green eyes, politely smiling at people who passed by, asking if they wanted to buy any flowers. He stood silently for several moments, gazing at her intently.

Tristan followed his eyes to the girl, a frown beginning to form on his face.

“What are you staring at?” he asked huffily.

“Thief number one,” Kyro said under his breath. He pulled Tristan over to the side of the street and whispered to him fervently.

“Last night, you know how the guards were seemingly knocked out by nothing?”

Tristan nodded.

“And then you saw when someone just appeared out of thin air?”

Tristan nodded again, unsure of what Kyro’s point was.

“Well, they didn’t just spontaneously appear,” he explained. “They were there the whole time, we just couldn’t  _ see  _ them - but I could  _ feel  _ them. They might have been invisible to the eye but their aura was always there. And it’s her.” Kyro jerked his thumb in the direction of the flower girl.

Tristan looked at Kyro incredulously, unable to fathom that their dastardly criminal was a teenage girl.

“Wait here,” Kyro said quickly. “I’m going to go sound her out.”

Before Tristan could protest, Kyro had already started heading toward the fountain. Tristan sighed, watching Kyro from a distance as he approached the girl. Kyro put on his most charming smile and casually walked up to her, looking at the flowers intently, as if he were seriously contemplating the differences between them.

“Would you like to buy a flower?” she asked, her voice and smile flat but polite.

“As a matter of fact, I would.” Kyro flashed her a dazzling grin. “I just don’t know which one I want yet.” He tapped his chin with one finger, now actually trying to pick one out. He spotted a pure white lily in the assortment with soft, full petals. His heart gravitated toward it and he pointed it out. “This one, please.”

The girl wordlessly picked it up and wrapped a thin piece of parchment around its stem, tying it off with a ribbon. Kyro handed her a few coins and accepted the flower.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Come back if you ever need more flowers,” she said with a slight nod.

“Actually,” Kyro began. “I was wondering if you could help me with something else. See, I’m not from around here, just passing through. I could use a local guide if you’re free later.”

The girl looked at him squarely and gave him another polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m not, but thanks for your business.” She then proceeded to push her cart away, looking for a new spot to peddle her flowers.

Kyro walked back to Tristan, speechless.

“Here,” he said, handing the lily to Tristan with a dazed look on his face. “It reminded me of you.”

Tristan accepted the flower and flushed slightly, feeling his ears heat up, even though he knew Kyro had only bought the flower to get the girl’s attention.

“So...how did it go?” he asked.

“Terribly,” Kyro answered. “She wouldn’t even give me the time of day.” He threw his hands up in exasperation, wondering where he went wrong.

Tristan turned away to hide the small smile on his face, coughing before facing Kyro again.

“What now, then?”

“Now, we wait.”

They loitered around the marketplace until the sun began to set, surreptitiously following the girl as she moved to several different locations over the course of the day. Finally, when the market began to close down, they saw her entering the warehouse on the other end of the street along with many of the other workers they had seen manning the marketplace. Kyro tracked her aura as she took one of the lifts down. He frowned, wondering what she was doing at the docks, unconvinced fishermen were all that into flowers.  _ Perhaps to meet someone _ , he thought.  _ We have to get down to the docks _ .

The next day, Kyro took Tristan to the most casual clothing boutique he could find, picking out some unassuming clothing for the both of them. Tristan once again tied his hair into a ponytail and wore a bandana and scarf to change up his look from his usual appearance. When they emerged, the two could pass for any of the other youths who stood behind the stalls and storefronts all day, advertising their goods. Blending in with the other people coming and going, Kyro and Tristan slipped into the massive warehouse. This one was difficult to see the back of for the majority of the room was full of tall shelves. Endless rows of boxes and crates were before them, as workers busily took inventory and unloaded or prepared shipments. They were about to make their way toward the back of the warehouse when a gruff voice called out to them.

“Hey, you there!”

Kyro and Tristan turned around to find a tall man with a thick beard looking down at them. They panicked for a few moments, wondering if they had already been caught.

“Are you with the new hires?” he thumbed through a stack of papers in his hands.

“Yes,” Kyro said immediately.

“Yes,  _ sir _ ,” the man sneered. He motioned to someone who promptly jogged over. “Norran, they’re all yours.”

The man named Norran bowed at the other’s retreating figure and then looked at Kyro and Tristan.

“Perfect, just in time to help with the latest shipment.”

He was a thin and slightly hunched older man, face leathery with wrinkles and grey in his wiry hair. He led them to a large section of the warehouse that was bustling with activity. Some people were unloading heavy crates while others were digging through opened boxes, inspecting goods and scribbling on notepads.

“You,” Norran pointed to Kyro. “Go assist with the storage efforts.” He motioned to the rows of shelves then turned to Tristan. “You’ll help me with inventory.”

Kyro and Tristan looked at each other before going separate ways. Over by the shelves, Kyro saw pairs of people climbing up and down step ladders to stow away boxes. He looked around for a bit before sensing something - or rather, someone - familiar. He was so overwhelmed by the number of people working in the warehouse that he hadn’t noticed until then. A youth with dark red hair and sharp looking eyes stood not too far from him, pushing a long rectangular crate along the ground. Kyro observed him warily, wondering just how many of these thieves were barely his own age. He walked over and gave him a friendly smile.

“Need help? Norran sent me over.”

The youth nodded wordlessly, and both of them bent down to lift an end. With a great deal of effort, they managed to lift it up and slide it onto one of the shelves.

“Whew, that was heavy,” Kyro said. He held out a hand and introduced himself, “I’m Kyro.”

“Ignis.” He shook Kyro’s hand and gave a quick nod before reaching for the next box.

Kyro rolled his shoulders, resigning himself to a day of physical labor, joining Ignis in shelving boxes. Some were light and small enough to be carried alone while others required both of their strength. It was boring but tiresome work, and soon all of Kyro’s muscles were screaming; he sincerely hoped Tristan was better off. At midday, all the workers were given a short break and a small bowl of soup. Kyro found Tristan and pulled him off to the side.

“How are you holding up?” he asked.

“I’ve never counted so many  _ things  _ in my life before,” Tristan replied dismally, holding his hands in his head.

Kyro chuckled and patted his head gently before filling him in on his latest discovery.

“I found our second thief,” he said quietly. “Red hair, guy I was moving boxes with.”

Tristan casually peeked over to where an adolescent was sitting with a slight frown on his face.

“You’re sure? They’re just...kids,” he said awkwardly. Even though both the girl and the boy were around his own age, they seemed so young and vulnerable in comparison.

Kyro simply nodded in response, understanding Tristan’s sentiment.  _ What would drive them to steal and attack their own people? _ he wondered. The break period concluded quickly and everyone got back to work. By the end of the day, both of them wanted nothing more than to go back to the guest house and pass out. Most of the workers formed into three lines by the small lifts, taking them down to the docks. Everyone who worked outside in the marketplace came inside as well and joined the queue, including the girl selling flowers. Kyro and Tristan didn’t want to miss their chance to see the docks, but knew they needed to check in with Frey before he had a fit.

When they moved to walk toward the warehouse entrance, a couple surly looking guards blocked their path.

“Where do you two think you’re going?” one of them asked.

“You guys know the city is closed when the market shuts down. Get back in line.”

Kyro and Tristan exchanged glances, realizing they were probably in deep trouble.


	15. Chapter 15

“What do we do?” Tristan whispered under his breath as they re-entered the line.

“Let’s just go down to the docks anyways, we can get ourselves out at any time if we really need to.”

Tristan nodded but felt an uncomfortable wave of apprehension gnawing inside him. Kyro instinctively grabbed his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Tristan felt a little bit better but once again started worrying as they stepped on the lift and began to descend, unsure of what they were getting themselves into

As the lift dropped through the floor of the warehouse, Kyro couldn’t believe his eyes. Crimson light washed over them as the sun hung low in the sky like a bleeding heart, dripping into the bay. The waters of the bay were dyed a scarlet hue in the sunset, still glittering with each wave. He moved dangerously close to the thin rail of the lift that was all that separated him from a certain death, wanting to get a better look. As they moved down the face of the cliff, he got a better view of what was below. The base of the cliff was actually a wide beach, sand flowing out to meet the ocean. The dock that he had seen from above was much larger the closer they got to it, with a massive boardwalk built on top of the sand. People were still busy at work, hauling up their final catch of the day or loading last minute crates onto waiting ships.

When the lift touched down, Kyro eagerly got off and ran to the edge of the boardwalk. He jumped down and landed in the soft sand, feet sinking just a little. He continued to the shoreline, kneeling down to touch the cool water, splashing it around and running his fingers in the silky sand.

“It feels so nice, Tristan come over here-” Kyro turned to call Tristan over but stopped abruptly. He could see Tristan standing at the edge of the boardwalk, profile reflecting concern, eyebrows furrowed and the corners of his lips drawn downward. Kyro stood up and followed his gaze. When he saw what had caused Tristan to make such a face, his heart sunk into the pit of his stomach.

“What...” he breathed, once again by Tristan’s side.

From any other vantage point in the city, what they were seeing was completely hidden from view. Only from where they stood at sea level, could they see that a large portion of the cliff was actually hollowed out. A city nearly the size of the one above it was crammed into the cavernous space, buildings made of rough stone or dilapidated wooden shacks going as far back into the earth as they could see. Aside from the clear difference in architectural integrity, what unsettled Kyro and Tristan the most were the people. No longer wearing the polite shopkeeper smiles, they looked ragged and disgruntled, shuffling about in the darkness.

Kyro spotted a familiar shock of red hair and chased after it.

“Ignis!” he called.

Ignis turned when he heard his name, spotting Kyro and a blonde male running up to him. He didn’t respond but looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to go on.

“Er, this is kind of a weird question, but what is this place?”

“Argo...?” Ignis replied in a confused tone. He looked around them. “The docks?”

“You again!” A sharp voice rang through the air as a small figure cut in between Kyro and Ignis. “Is he bothering you, Ig?”

“Miss Flowers, what a coincidence,” Kyro said.

“What are you doing down in the slums? You seemed like just another rich socialite looking to spend your parents’ money,” she said with hostility, her words lashing out like a knife.

Kyro’s expression iced over for a split second before he composed himself. Tristan, noticing how tense he was, reached forward and held his hand.

“I said, I was just passing through. But as it turns out, my companion and I need to stick around a little while longer, so we found jobs.” Kyro’s voice was overly pleasant and his smile forced.

“They work in the warehouse with me, Rina,” Ignis said. “His name is Kyro.”

“And I’m Tris,” Tristan added quickly before the opportunity arose for Kyro to give him a new and equally stupid fake name.

The girl Ignis referred to as Rina huffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“Well you two made a terrible choice. Life down here is suffocating and bleak, with almost no hope of moving to the upper city.”

“You guys are forced to live down here?” Tristan asked in a soft voice.

“Those damn aristocrats can barely stand our deplorable existence, yet use us to keep their perfect little city running. But since they own all the businesses, the ships, hell, even the docks, they think they own us too.” Rina seethed quietly, her eyes emanating a lifetime of hatred that Kyro was all too familiar with. She looked around warily at the guards who were patrolling the docks before grabbing Ignis’s wrist and walking away.

Kyro and Tristan both had complex expressions on their faces, unsure how to deal with the startling knowledge they were dealt. For the time being, they followed behind Rina and Ignis into the underground city, much to the former’s annoyance.

“Why are you following us?”

“We have nowhere to go,” Kyro shrugged. “Can we stay with you guys?”

“Absolutely not-”

“Sure,” Ignis cut Rina off, causing her to glare at him furiously.

The four of them walked through the dank and winding streets, if they could even be called that, cutting between an assortment of hovels and even some tents. Finally, Ignis and Rina ducked into a small shack. Although it was technically just one large room, through the use of screens they had divided it into roughly three sections for cooking, living, and sleeping.

“Don’t expect us to give up the bed,” Rina said sourly, ducking into the ‘bedroom’ to change out of her working clothes.

“She’s...not as mean as she seems,” Ignis said apologetically.

“I heard that!”

Given the size of the room, there was no privacy. Ignis sighed as the three of them sat in the cramped living space; Rina decidedly keeping to herself in protest.

“How...did you guys end up here?” Kyro struggled to ask.

“What do you mean, we were born here,” Rina said angrily from her side of the room.

“I think what he meant to say was, where are your families?” Tristan amended.

“My mother died giving birth to me and my father was lost at sea while fishing several years ago,” Ignis said grimly. “As for Rina..."

“I was abandoned as a baby,” she said coldly. “It’s a miracle I was able to survive, stealing scraps here and there, but I can only hope I’ve already outlived them.”

Kyro was quiet, but Tristan spoke up after some time.

“I lost my parents when I was very young, too. Although the circumstances were different I understand your pain.”

They could hear Rina scoff from across the room but she said nothing more.

“Under conditions like these, it’s easier to get by as a group,” Ignis said. “Most of the others around our age stick together. You guys should too.”

They talked quietly for a little while longer, despair growing within Tristan with every new and horrible thing he learned about Argo’s severe class divide, until it was time to receive their dinner. Those who worked were given part of their wages in food rations, so they went to what was considered the town square to be given a bowl of thick, greasy stew and a hard roll. When it was finally time to sleep, Rina and Ignis retreated to their corner of the room while Kyro sat on the hard floor, letting Tristan lay his head in his lap.

Kyro closed his eyes, pretending to sleep for quite some time. He was about to actually doze off when he felt movement from across the room. It was nearly pitch black so he couldn’t really see their forms, but he could feel Rina and Ignis quietly getting up and exiting the shack. Kyro waited a few moments before waking Tristan up. He put a finger to Tristan’s lips and motioned toward the door. They silently crept out into the underground city, Kyro tracking the two wordlessly. Rina and Ignis went all the way to the back of the cave, where rudimentary showers and wash stations were set up, then seemingly disappeared. Kyro and Tristan puzzled over how they had slipped away when Tristan discovered a break in the wall. From afar it looked normal, but up close one could actually slide into the gap.

They crawled through the tight tunnel, a safe distance behind the other two, and after a while began an upward climb. Eventually they could see the path opening up to the sky and relished breathing in the cool, fresh air. They emerged from the tunnel back at the top of the cliff, in the forest surrounding Argo.  _ So this is how they got up and down without the lifts _ , Kyro thought. He could sense Rina and Ignis, along with their three other comrades, deeper in the woods, most likely having some kind of meeting.

“Kyro,” Tristan said with urgency in his voice, tugging on Kyro’s sleeve.

He nodded in understanding - they had to report back to Frey immediately. The two of them ran through the city as fast as they could, gasping for breath by the time they reached the guest house. Frey was waiting for them in the sitting room, looking like he was carved out of stone. He stared the two of them down with a frightening expression, making them feel like they were being stared down by a predator.

“You have five seconds to explain yourselves before going upstairs and packing your things.” His voice was soft and calm, but Tristan could feel the rage building behind it, barely held back by a thread.

“We found the bandits,” Tristan said quickly.

When he heard this, Frey was actually quite surprised.

“Well, that makes my job considerably easier and we can all go home. Who are they?”

Tristan looked away, not answering Frey immediately. Kyro, who had been silent until then, stood beside him, keeping his mouth shut for once.

“I...want to talk to them more. I don’t think they’re bad people,” Tristan said.

Frey’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Tristan.

“And why do you think that? Weren’t you the one who told Governor Ventus you would bring the thieves to justice?” Frey said sharply.

Tristan looked down, indeed remembering his promise to the governor.

“Frey, there’s something wrong with this city. I came to Argo to help the people, and that’s what I’m going to do.” His eyes were hard with determination, glinting in the dim light.

Frey was silent for a few moments before he sighed,

“You have forty-eight hours. If you are unable to handle the situation by then, you will turn over the criminals and they will be arrested.”

“I will, thank you, Frey!” Tristan stood a little taller, resolute in his decision to get to the bottom of things.

As they moved to leave, Tristan heading out of the house first, Frey grabbed Kyro’s arm, fingers digging in tightly. He didn’t have to say anything for Kyro to get the message.

“I’ll protect him with my life, as I always have,” Kyro said before shaking him off and following after Tristan.

Frey watched them go with a heavy feeling in his chest; the world was not kind to those who were pure and innocent. Although Tristan still had a lot of growing up to do, Frey believed that the goodness of his heart would one day help him to become a great king, if he did not lose it along the way.

***

When they got back to Rina and Ignis’s shack, the two of them were awake, wondering where Kyro and Tristan had gone.

“He had a really bad stomach ache and is afraid of the dark, so I had to go with him to the bathroom,” Kyro said with a yawn.

Rina raised an eyebrow while Ignis said nothing, both returning to their bed to get some sleep. Tristan bristled, glaring daggers at Kyro, who had already settled himself down on the ground. He extended his arm out for Tristan to use as a pillow, beckoning at him.

“I’m going to get my revenge on you one day,” he whispered, still fuming as he laid down on top of Kyro’s arm.

Kyro merely laughed, rolling onto his side and wrapping his other arm around Tristan tightly. 

“I’d like to see you try,” he murmured into Tristan’s ear, causing him to blush violently. Tristan was incredibly grateful for the lack of light inside the shack.

“Stop flirting and shut up!” Rina snapped.

No one said anything for the rest of the night, fearful of Rina’s temper.

Even though Kyro and Tristan’s investigation was on a tight schedule, there was little they could do during the daytime. From morning to early evening they toiled in the warehouse, trying to make conversation with the other workers when they could. However, everyone mainly kept to themselves, not wanting to attract any attention from their supervisors. It wasn’t until they were released for the day and corralled back into the slums that people began to speak more freely.

They were worried that no one would talk to them, especially since they were strangers, but Rina and Ignis’s presence seemed to help people open up to them. Despite their young age, they were respected and well liked in the community. It was obvious from their interactions that people depended on Rina and Ignis for assistance and support, especially the elderly who could no longer work. Kyro and Tristan listened to their stories and woes, quickly understanding that the situation was a lot more grim than it seemed. The people of the slums were fed up with their lot in life and becoming increasingly agitated.

While they were sitting around the city square on upturned crates eating their meager dinner, Kyro perked up when he felt several familiar auras approaching.  _ Finally, time to meet the rest of the gang _ , he thought.

“Rina.”

A girl in her mid-teens walked up to them flanked by 2 others, her skin as dark and rich as freshly tilled earth. She brushed a lock of thick black hair behind her ear before leaning over to whisper something. Rina nodded, acknowledging whatever she had been told.

“Your crew?” Kyro asked, a knowing smile on his face.

“Who’s asking?” came a squeaky voice from beside the girl. A young boy, probably only seven or eight, crossed his arms and stared at Kyro with a frown. He was the spitting image of the older girl, so they were most likely siblings.

“Be nice,” the girl said, ruffling his hair. “I’m Ofelia and this is my brother Nino.” She extended her hand to Kyro and Tristan with a kind smile.

Nino continued to glare at them, turning up his nose with a huff. The other person who had come with them was the eldest of the five, tall and broad shouldered with a long face. He smelled strongly of the sea and had tanned skin from too much time spent under the sun.

“Wayne Reed, but you can just call me Reed,” he said in a deep voice. “Haven’t seen you two around before.”

“I’m Kyro, and that’s Tris. We were traveling from place to place before ending up in Argo. Needed to make some pocket change and well, now we’re here. We work with Ignis in the warehouse.”

Reed looked thoughtfully at Kyro, his chin in his hand.

“What we’ve seen so far is...heartbreaking and wrong. We’d like to help,” Tristan said earnestly. “In any way possible. I...I can’t bear to see people suffering like this.”

Rina stood up abruptly, nearly causing Tristan to fall out of his seat.

“Thanks, but no thanks. We can handle our own problems,” she said, walking away from the group with finality.

Ignis rubbed the back of his neck, sighing.

“We appreciate it, but as you know our city’s problems are especially sensitive. You’re welcome to stay with us for the time being, but I suggest you don’t stick your nose in too deeply. Only because Rina will bite.” Ignis gave them a small, sad smile.

Tristan nodded sullenly but Kyro was unconvinced. They were running out of time to come up with a way to resolve the situation, which meant he would most likely have to force their hand.

That night, once again Kyro pretended to sleep, waiting for Rina and Ignis to leave. Tristan also lay awake, but primarily because his thoughts were too turbulent to allow him to sleep. They followed them through the long tunnel, but this time trekked through the woods instead of returning to the city.

The five youths were further in, huddled around each other in a small clearing. Moonlight streamed through the trees, illuminating their figures. Each was dressed in dark, tight clothes with fabric wrapped around their faces. Their expressions were grim but fierce, preparing for the night’s raid. Kyro and Tristan hid in the shadows behind a large bush, listening to their conversation.

“It’s not looking good, Rina,” Ignis said. “I scoped out the warehouse and they’ve doubled security. I don’t think you can take them all out at once.”

Rina bit her lip, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

“I can do it,” she said vehemently. “I have to. You know just as well as I do that there hasn’t been enough food to go around ever since that stupid national defense tax was put in place.” Her voice was full of disgust.

Tristan’s blood boiled in his veins - he knew exactly which tax they were referring to. Darius had levied a nationwide tax to support Frey’s campaign in the northwest, raising funds to provide resources and supplies. Not only should it have expired when the army returned almost two months ago, but Tristan had specifically argued to draw the biggest percentage from the richest margin. If Argo was unlawfully taxing its poorest bracket in the crown’s name, Tristan would not stand for it.

“Were you able to collect enough toxin, Ofelia?”

Ofelia nodded, withdrawing a small vial from a purse at her hip. It was full of clear liquid that shone under the moonlight. Rina took it and began to dip thin darts into the vial, coating the sharp tips.

“You’re going to need eight, at minimum,” Ignis said, still concerned for the success rate of their usual tactics. “They’re spread out, too. Two at both corners and four by the main door.”

“Easy,” Rina said through gritted teeth while slipping the darts into loops that lined the bracers she wore around both wrists, not backing down from the challenge.

“Sounds like you could use some backup,” Kyro said, suddenly emerging from their hiding place.

“You!” Rina gasped, an enraged look appearing on her face. Everyone was surprised to see Kyro walking toward them, Tristan meekly hanging back a few steps. Rina glared at him and disappeared into thin air, fed up with his annoying presence. Kyro and Tristan both blinked as she vanished, although Kyro still had a perfect read on her location. She dashed toward him and lashed out with a fist, expecting to strike him in the jaw. Kyro leaned back to avoid Rina’s swing and used his arm to divert the flow of her punch while kicking her leg out from under her. She lost her balance and was flung to the side, crashing to the ground.

Nobody moved as they watched Kyro make some motions in the air followed by a loud thud. Rina was fazed for a few moments, shocked that Kyro could counter her, before getting up and attacking again. They exchanged a few blows, Rina doing her best to catch him unaware, but it was like he could see her moves clear as day. Even worse, not only was he unhindered by her invisibility, it was almost as if he was reading her moves, responding a split second before she had even attacked. Rina jumped back and lowered her aura, becoming visible again. Her expression was a mixture of frustration and confusion as she growled at him angrily.

“How are you able to see me?” she asked between deep breaths, winded from their fight.

“Doesn’t matter,” Kyro said. “But I don’t appreciate being attacked when I was merely offering my assistance, which it seems like you guys sorely need.” He looked at her darkly, eyes burning dangerously.

Tristan grabbed Kyro’s hand, trying to cool his temper and prevent even more fighting.

“It was wrong of us to follow you,” Tristan said quickly, trying to deescalate the situation. “But we meant it when we said we want to help.”

Ignis put his hand on Rina’s shoulder in a similarly calming manner.

“They’re already here, Rina. We might as well let them stay off to the side just in case something happens,” he said quietly.

She shrugged off his hand indignantly and began to stalk off in the direction of the warehouse.

“Whatever,” she muttered. “Just don’t get in our way.”

The seven of them crept up to the quiet marketplace, spotting the row of guards wrapped around the front of the warehouse. Rina knew in her heart that there were too many of them and the chances of taking them all out before one of them noticed and raised the alarm was high, but her pride and need to get food for her people outweighed the risk. Everyone took their positions, hidden along the treeline, while she covered herself in a dense shroud of her aura, concealing herself from sight.

Kyro watched from behind a thick tree trunk as she quietly ran to the far side of the warehouse where two unsuspecting guards stood looking out into the night. She knew she had only a few seconds to make it down the line so she did her best to make them count. Rina threw two darts with pinpoint accuracy, striking the watchmen squarely in the neck. Before confirming whether or not they had been hit she ran at the four who were standing in front of the door. They stood in a staggered position, which made it easy for her to throw darts at the two facing her while she ran, pivoting on her toes to turn and hit the other two as she passed without stopping. By then the first guards had slumped to the ground, unconscious, surprising the two remaining ones.

“What the-!” one of them exclaimed as the four guarding the door began to drop from where they stood as well.

The other quickly lifted a large whistle hanging from his belt to his lips, about to release a piercing sound into the still night when a sharp blow cracked across the back of his head. He fell forward, landing painfully on his face, as Kyro stood behind him looking satisfied, the other guard already unconscious by his feet.

“Oh, thank you Kyro, I’m so glad you were here Kyro, you’re such a great help Kyro,” he said overdramatically in a high pitched voice, attempting a very poor imitation of Rina.

She became visible again and glared at him, wishing she had an extra dart to jam into his forehead. Rina made a sharp hand motion and the rest of her friends left the cover of the forest to descend upon the guards. Reed removed each dart carefully while Ofelia followed closely behind, dabbing a little cream on the small wounds to reduce the inflammation from the toxin. Rina and Ignis searched the guards for the key to the warehouse, but were surprised to find none of them had it on their person.

“What are we going to do?” Ignis said quietly.

“The door is too fortified to break, plus we might draw even more attention down here,” Reed said.

Kyro whistled quietly and sauntered up to the warehouse entrance. After several moments of concentration, the door swung open.

“Who would have thought, I’m so useful,” he said in mock surprise.

Rina rolled her eyes while Tristan sighed, knowing that he would probably never hear the end of Kyro’s insulted ego after this. After finding Nino, who had run off to chase a lizard under a rock, they filed into the building. Tristan shivered upon entering, for the temperature of the warehouse was considerably colder than the outside autumn air. Kyro looked around, very interested in what was going to happen next.

“So, what now?” he asked.

“If you really want to be helpful,” Rina said sharply, “Go collect a bit of food from each section and bring it back to Nino.” She and the others ran off in different directions before Kyro could question what the young boy could possibly do with all the stolen goods.

Kyro and Tristan looked down at the sulking boy who stared back at them, still not accepting their presence, before running off to do as Rina said. After they both grabbed armfuls of different vegetables, fruits, cheeses, and even a couple loaves of bread, they returned to see something that nearly made them drop everything they were carrying.

Nino had his hands cupped together, a shimmering vortex suspended above them. To everyone else it seemed like an odd wrinkling in the air, distorting the space above his hands, but Kyro could see his aura swirling like a flat whirlpool. Each of the four were quickly dropping the food they had brought into the center of the odd rift, watching as it disappeared without a trace. Ofelia saw him looking astonished, mouth hanging open, and explained quietly.

“My brother can create pools of aura that are somehow connected, even if it’s a faraway distance. Makes being a thief super easy,” she said with a proud smile.

Kyro looked at the small child in awe and horror, shuddering at the thought of what a frightening aura user he would one day become. Looking at Nino in a new light, he mirrored the others’ motions and sent the food away. Once they had looted enough food, Reed took a gold coin they stole from one of the guards and bent it in half. He dropped it in plain sight before they exited the warehouse, with Kyro locking the door behind them. The poison Rina had used on the guards was from a local breed of sea urchin, its toxin fast acting enough to paralyze and knock a human unconscious, but wore off in a few hours with no real side effects. The two men Kyro had dealt with, however, would wake up with nasty headaches.

The seven of them ran back through the woods, satisfied with the night’s haul. Near the clearing they used as a meeting spot, they had dug out a cellar for storing the stolen food. They would slowly distribute the spoils among the most needy, and once it ran out, would repeat the process all over again.

“So, is stealing food the only thing you guys do?” Kyro asked.

“No,” Rina said defensively, “We’ve also destroyed a couple merchant caravans leaving the city when we catch wind of any departing at night. It’s great to see those greedy bastards crying over all their lost money, feeling but a small bit of the despair we live in.” She grew quiet before speaking again. “But it’s not enough, right guys?” Rina looked around at her friends then at Kyro and Tristan, her green eyes glowing. “We’re going to show those upper city dregs they messed with the wrong people.”

Tristan felt a knot forming in the pit of his stomach, turning away because the look in Rina’s eyes terrified him.

“Oh? And what is this great next step in your master plan?” Kyro asked.

“We’re going to burn Argo to the ground and in the chaos, bring our oppressors to their knees.”

Kyro immediately frowned; a revolution was a dangerous thing. Under normal circumstances, kids like them wouldn’t be considered a real threat. But he saw firsthand how the adults followed Rina and Ignis, surely agreeing to fight for their cause. Things could quickly get out of hand and people would be hurt - he had no doubts that the people of the slums would suffer higher casualties than the aristocrats of the upper city.

Tristan’s eyes were wide in fear, he wanted to dissuade them from acting too rashly, but before he could open his mouth, Kyro grabbed his hand and gave him a look. They had to deal with this carefully, or else things would blow up right in their faces.

“Sounds dangerous,” Kyro said after a while. “I assume you are all prepared to suffer heavy losses in the event of failure?”

Rina nodded rigidly, her jaw set.

“We’ve all come to the conclusion that life isn’t worth living if it’s spent under the foot of another.”

Everyone nodded, their faces bleak. Kyro understood their feelings of resentment and hate, for he had felt the very same thing when he had first arrived in Tieria. To some degree he still felt that way, wanting nothing more than to turn Lorelai into a sea of fire and hurt all its people in the same way his own had been wronged, to just walk up to Darius and stab him again and again, even knowing that he himself would be killed shortly thereafter. But over time he had calmed down, reining his emotions in from an uncontained firestorm to a single, concentrated flame that now powered his existence. And that flame had been born out of the hope Tristan had given him, a direct result of Kyro placing his trust in the words of a stranger he had at his mercy. He wondered if the people of the slums were capable of doing the same - otherwise, they were risking everything just for a chance to inflict a small amount of damage on their opponents, who would most likely retaliate quickly and lethally. Kyro didn’t know where they would stand on the matter, and he was afraid to find out.

They returned to the city in a somber mood, physically tired from the heist and emotionally drained from facing the realization of their next steps. Tristan wondered if they should tell Frey about the impending attack, but knew his sense of duty and logic would force him to immediately mobilize his troops and arrest those planning to revolt. Tristan wasn’t able to sleep that night, caught between weighing the lives of the ignorantly complicit upper class and the rebels who were willing to die for freedom, planning to achieve it through a successful uprising or death.

Kyro and Tristan’s final day passed in a blur, both of them in a state of grim contemplation. They were out of time and now faced with an even bigger dilemma than the original issue of thievery. Frey was expecting them back that night and they had sadly come up empty handed in resolving the tension between the upper city and the slums. Kyro had arrived at the decision that turning them over to Frey was the best option they had. Too many people, innocent or otherwise, would be hurt in the process and he knew from the way they were treated, like cattle instead of humans, that those controlling Argo would not be open to discussion if they were reached out to through violence. At the very least, Kyro had the hope that they could speak out in defense of Rina and her band, even explaining that they were only pushed to such actions because of their inhumane conditions. Perhaps that could be the catalyst for change, instead.

After suppertime Kyro could feel the pressure in the air; the sea was churning dangerously and dark clouds rolled in the sky. Those who were of fighting condition were inconspicuously organizing themselves, gathering the makeshift weapons and armor they had been preparing for so long. He guessed that after Rina and her group initiated the first attack, they would collectively overwhelm the guards securing the docks to gain control of the lifts, rising up the side of the cliff to assault the city.

Rina was silent even when Kyro and Tristan followed them to their usual meeting place in the depths of the forest, as if nothing the two could say or do would be enough to stop them at this point. Due to the overcast weather, they lit a small fire by which to see as they quietly made their final preparations. Their faces were set in hard, determined lines as they equipped themselves with small knives and daggers, along with the flint needed to light the explosives they would plant around the city. One of the outgoing caravans they had attacked was carrying a shipment of rare orbs that had been received from overseas. They were filled with an aura that once released, after the outer casing was melted in high temperature, would ignite in a ball of fire. Rina had spent weeks learning the movement patterns of the city guards so that they could slip through the streets unseen and unleash their attack. Luckily for them, while Frey had increased the amount of guards in each patrol, he had not changed their route. Nino would remain at the hideout, ready to run at a moment’s notice to signal the attack below. When it was finally time to put their long awaited plan into action, all five of them turned in surprise when Tristan suddenly stood up from where he and Kyro were sitting off to the side. He walked over to them with an equally hard and resolute expression on his face. Before Kyro could stop him, he took a deep breath and began to speak.

“My name is Tristan Crane, Crown Prince of Tieria.”

Rina’s eyes flashed in shock as a peal of thunder cracked in the sky. Tristan held her gaze firmly.

“I beg you, please don’t go through with this. You will lose far more than you will gain.”

Nobody reacted for several moments for none of them were able to verify his claim.

“Tristan,” Kyro hissed in warning, hurrying to his side and grabbing his arm.

Tristan shook him off gently.

“I know what I’m doing, Kyro,” he replied.  _ Or at least, I hope _ .

Reed let out a sharp cry, his face lighting up as if being struck by a tremendous realization.

“Now I know why your name sounded so familiar,” he said frowning, jabbing a finger in Kyro’s direction. “I heard some of the merchants who were docked in our bay talking about you, how you showed incredible fighting skill at the King’s Tourney. You’re the Prince’s consort!”

Kyro winced at the official title he had been stuck with before letting out a sigh.  _ I guess there’s no going back from this now _ , he thought. They all collectively turned to look at Tristan, now focusing on him with disgusted or bitter eyes. Rina was the first to move, unsheathing a knife from her waist and charging at Tristan. Kyro quickly intercepted her attack, knocking her arm out of the way and standing firmly between them. Thunder and lightning crackled overhead, streaking across the darkened sky.

“How  _ dare  _ you!” she spat at Tristan. “You must have thought we were so pitiful and pathetic, watching us crawling in the dirt like bugs, when all along you and your kind are the source of our problems. Are our lives that much of a joke to you?” Hot tears sprung from her eyes as she glared at him with hatred and fury.

“No!” Tristan exclaimed, shoving past Kyro. “I swear to you, had I known about Argo’s situation I would never have let it get this far.” He pleaded with his eyes, praying that his honesty would reach her heart.

“It’s too late for words,” Rina said coldly. “Only actions will bring about the change we require.”

“You’re right, and I promise you, when I am crowned in six weeks I will make the equality of  _ all  _ of Argo’s citizens my priority. I will send as much food and resources as I can, directly to you, in the meantime. No lives need to be lost, on either side.” Tristan then got on his knees before Rina, looking up at her from the ground. “I have failed you until now but I  _ swear _ , if you believe in me your faith will not be misplaced.” His voice began to break. “Please, don’t lead your friends to suffer more when there is still hope to be had.”

Rina stared down on him in contempt, face menacing in the dim firelight. She gripped the knife in her hand tightly, muscles tensed.

“Rina…” Ignis said quietly from behind her.

She suddenly let out an aggrieved cry and reared back, bringing the knife above her head with one arm. Everyone looked on in panic before she turned and hurled the knife out to the side, embedding it deeply into the hard earth several steps away. Rina let out deep breaths, her shoulders trembling, as she faced her back toward Tristan. Heavy rain began to fall from the sky, mingling with the tears on her and the others’ faces. The flames of their rebellion had fizzled out before they could even begin to burn. Kyro was just about to release a sigh of relief when Rina whirled around and swung her leg out, viciously kicking Tristan across the face.

“You bitch!” Kyro snarled, rushing forward to hold Tristan, who had collapsed into the dirt. Kyro’s heart burned as he saw hot blood running down the side of Tristan’s temple from a gash on his forehead. Tristan winced in pain, dizzy from the impact.

“It’s...okay, Kyro,” he said as he struggled to push himself up, blinking blood and rain out of his eyes. Tristan stood before Rina, not giving up any ground. “If bleeding helps you to see my sincerity, then I will gladly stand here and bleed.” He didn’t look away from her for a single second, the rush of rainfall deafening in his still ringing ears. After what felt like an eternity, Rina finally spoke.

“Leave,” she said harshly, voice barely above the roar of water. “If it turns out you’re lying, I will find you and make you suffer a thousand times more than we have in the history of this damned city.”

Kyro grabbed Tristan’s hand, tugging gently. Rina’s threat was about as good as they would get, so it was high time they returned to Frey. Tristan looked at the five of them one last time, deep sorrow in his eyes. He nodded before allowing Kyro to drag him away. They ran out of the forest and into the streets, neat cobblestones diverting fast running streams of water. 

By the time they finally entered the guest house, both of them were completely waterlogged and sullen. Frey started when he saw their condition, especially the long cut on Tristan’s face and the blood that had soaked into his clothes.

“What happened?” he asked sharply, rushing forward to examine Tristan more closely, lifting a hand to brush aside his wet hair.

Tristan knocked Frey’s hand away, uncharacteristically distant toward the other’s care.

“The attacks will stop,” he said flatly. “You can give Petro my word.” Tristan turned to go upstairs without saying anything else, a clear dismissal and sign that he didn’t want to speak any more on the matter.

Frey looked toward Kyro for some answers but he only shook his head soberly. It was not his place to speak of what happened between all of them those past few days. After Frey had left, Kyro went upstairs to look for Tristan. He found him almost fully submerged in the large, clawfoot bathtub, steam from the burning water rising all around him. Kyro left him alone to brood, knowing there was nothing for him to say.

When Tristan eventually emerged from the bathroom in a clean set of clothes, Kyro motioned for him to come over so he could dress the wound on his forehead. Tristan sat emotionlessly in a plush armchair, face blank and unreadable, as Kyro administered a salve he had found along with other first aid materials in one of the house’s closets. Once a bandage had been tied tightly around his head, he got up without a word and crawled into bed. Kyro sighed, watching his sluggish movements before going to take a quick shower.

He returned to find Tristan curled into a ball under the covers, tears silently running along his flushed cheeks. Kyro laid down beside him and drew him into his arms, holding him tightly against his chest. Neither of them said anything as sleep eventually claimed them.

It continued to rain for a couple more days, not helping to dispel Tristan’s forlorn mood. When the skies finally began to clear, they were only too eager to return to Lorelai and leave Argo behind. Before they were set to leave, Tristan established a weekly recurring delivery order in Rina’s name, filled with a variety of food and other supplies. He paid the merchant handsomely upfront and warned him that if the merchant didn’t personally confirm that each delivery reached its destination safely, he would be thrown in jail and tried for treason against the crown for obstructing the prince’s philanthropic efforts. Tristan exited the store with a hard expression on his face, the merchant left cowering behind the counter, frightened and sweating profusely.

The journey back home was somber and uneventful, no one making any conversation or small talk the entire way in fear of disturbing the crown prince’s dour silence. Even once they had reached Lorelai, Tristan continued to isolate himself, lost deep in the mire of his thoughts, leaving Frey to report back to Darius alone. Kyro was worried about how their visit to Argo had affected Tristan, but knew from one royal to another, it was an internal struggle Tristan would have to work out for himself.


	16. Chapter 16

With the disheartening events of their trip behind them, the crisp fall days would soon give way to the coldest nights of the year. Tristan’s coronation was drawing closer and closer, and if Darius’s rule was any indication of how matters of humanity had been handled thus far, it was more important than ever to ensure Tristan safely ascended the throne. Despite neither Kyro nor Tristan being in any mood for festivities, the Tierians still had one last nationwide holiday to celebrate before the first snow of winter would arrive.

“Isn’t it...kind of a fire hazard?” Kyro asked bluntly. He knew firsthand just how dangerous a combination drinking and open flames made.

“There are a few accidents every year,” Piri giggled, as if remembering some humorous past incidents, “But for the most part it’s safe.”

The two were walking through the castle halls, Piri dragging a cart full of clean linen while Kyro’s arms were laden with a tall stack of neatly folded sheets.

“Why are there so many names for it, anyway?” He shifted his weight, feeling like the tower of sheets was about to topple over.

“I’m not sure...it’s officially recorded as the Late Autumn Festival, but most people call it the Firelight Festival. Although my favorite way to refer to it is the Night of a Thousand Lights.” she sighed dreamily.

“You people are so ridiculous.” Kyro rolled his eyes.

“It’s really quite beautiful and romantic, Kyro!” she chided, puffing out her cheeks. “Seeing all the dazzling bonfires at night, the burning ceremony, staying up to see the sun rise with your loved ones…”

“Excuse me, the  _ what  _ ceremony?” Kyro nearly dropped everything he was holding.

“The  _ burning  _ ceremony. At midnight everyone tosses things into the fire, usually whatever represents their mistakes or regrets from the past year. Pieces of paper with your burdens written on them work just as well. It’s to symbolize rebirth and moving forward from who you were,” Piri explained.

“Whatever helps you lot sleep at night,” he said sarcastically. “But I guess I’ll suffer another one of your bizarre parties as long as there’s drinks and good food.”

It was Piri’s turn to roll her eyes at Kyro as she gave him an exasperated smile.

Kyro thought about the holidays and traditions Rien observed, but they were all simple and down to earth, none of them massive productions like in Tieria. He longed for the near future where he would once again be back home, but then grew pensive when he realized he had no one left to celebrate with.

After helping Piri finish the last of her morning chores, Kyro went off to find Tristan, who should have been released by then from the tedium of the Grand Council meeting. He peeked into Tristan’s room, finding it empty, when a folded piece of paper left atop the bed caught his eye. Kyro unfolded it and read the words written in his country’s writing system, letters neat and precise:  _ I’m in the tower. _ A small smile spread on his face as he pocketed the note and proceeded to climb up the countless stone steps. Tristan had slowly been returning to his usual self, and Kyro was determined to help reinvigorate his spirit in any way possible.

Kyro found Tristan in the tiny circular room at the very top, on his hands and knees with a bucket beside him. He hadn’t visited the tower since their explosive fight that had occurred there, and it seemed like neither had Tristan since it was an absolute mess. He was carefully picking up bits and pieces of broken wood that littered the floor, tossing them into the bucket. Kyro watched him for a bit in silence, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You’re going to get a splinter if you’re not careful,” he said after some time.

“I’m perfectly capable of handli-ngh!” Tristan swore under his breath, exhaling in frustration. He got up and walked over to the narrow window, examining his finger under the sunlight. Kyro met him there and held his hand up, noting the long and thin splinter that had slid into his pale skin. He carefully extracted it and tossed it out the window as Tristan winced from the pain, a bead of blood welling on his fingertip. Kyro took Tristan’s finger in his mouth and sucked gently, stemming the bleeding.

“In my expert opinion, I think you’ll live,” he said with a grin after releasing Tristan’s finger.

“Th-thanks, wasn’t aware you’re a doctor too,” Tristan mumbled, quickly withdrawing his hand and looking downward to hide his flushed face.

“What are you doing with all these twigs, anyway?”

“They’re for the upcoming festival.”

“Ah yes, your festival of too many names,” he snorted. “Why collect them yourself? We can’t have our precious little prince getting hurt, hm?” Kyro ruffled Tristan’s hair.

“Cut that out-” Tristan brushed him off indignantly. “It’s more meaningful if I gather them myself, okay?”

Lately Tristan had been feeling like he had been previously viewing the world with such a narrow view, stubbornly refusing to see the bigger picture of how his life intersected with those around him. He turned to look out the window ruefully, thinking back to how different things were just a few months ago - how heartbroken and lonely he had made not just himself, but Kyro as well. A cool breeze rolled in, causing him to shiver involuntarily. Suddenly, he was pressed up against the wall, held fast in Kyro’s arms. Kyro buried his face by Tristan’s neck, on the side where the thick golden braid hung over his shoulder.

“Tristan?” Kyro asked, his voice slightly muffled by all the hair.

“Y-yes?” Tristan’s voice was half an octave too high and he was frozen in place, heart thundering in his chest.

“Why do you always smell so sweet? I know you like desserts but it’s not like you’re hiding them in your clothes.”

Kyro pulled back and frowned, thoroughly confounded. Tristan ducked out of his hold and looked away nervously, unconsciously fiddling with his hair.

“I-I’ll tell you if you really want to know, but only if you promise not to laugh.”

“Of course,” he said seriously. “I promise.”

“...I treat my hair with honey when I bathe,” Tristan said quickly. “It gives it a nice shine and keeps it very healthy."

Kyro tried very hard not to laugh, pursing his lips together tightly and straining every muscle on his face. But it was no use as he eventually couldn’t keep in control and burst out laughing. He laughed loud and hard until his sides hurt, gasping for breath. Tristan had a furious expression on his face, debating whether or not the window was large enough to shove Kyro through.

“Knew I shouldn’t have told you…jerk...” Tristan muttered as he got back on the ground to scoop up the broken scraps of wood. Once Kyro’s fit had passed, he knelt down beside Tristan to help him.

“I’m sorry, it was just...a very surprising answer,” he said, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “I wasn’t making fun of you, I swear.” Kyro reached out to grab Tristan’s braid, caressing it and bringing the end to his face. “I rather like the smell,” he said, smiling.

Tristan smacked him in the head with a particularly large piece of wood.

“So what are you planning to burn?” Tristan asked as they finished clearing the room.

“I’m not sure. I don’t really have a lot of possessions, in all honesty.” Kyro was lost in thought as they headed down the tower stairs. “Piri said burning notes or letters works as well, so maybe I’ll just have to write something down.” He shrugged noncommittally, not really invested in the tradition anyway.

“Well, it should be a fun celebration nonetheless. I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself.”

“As long as this party doesn’t involve formal clothing, I think I’ll manage,” Kyro smirked.

***

Kyro stood miserably off to the side in a multi-layered suit, decorative pieces hanging off him like a ridiculous chandelier. Temperature wise he wouldn’t have been uncomfortable, as the evening air was cool, but the autumnal weather was offset by the blazing bonfire in the middle of the courtyard. Tristan stood on a raised platform, wearing an elaborate outfit with reflective jewelry that made him shine like a star in the firelight. He was addressing the party goers, primarily Lorelai’s nobles and others of the nation’s top brass, thanking them for attending and telling them to enjoy the evening’s festivities. The large courtyard in front of the castle’s main entrance was the only open space large enough for the spectacular bonfire. People split their time between chatting around the fire and savoring the delicious food and wine offered inside in the great hall.

Tristan exhaled deeply as he stepped off the stage, glad to be out of the spotlight for the moment. Kyro approached him, only to find Frey standing tall and taciturn by his side. The general wore his signature black suit, although this one was slightly fancier than his usual military fare. He gazed at Kyro with disinterest, blue eyes piercing into his skin. Kyro scowled but grabbed Tristan’s hand regardless of Frey’s stare.

“Let’s go get some drinks,” he said, leading Tristan to the great hall. The atmosphere inside was a little more festive and lively compared to the serene calm of the outdoors, but still maintained a refined and dignified air. People elegantly waltzed around the dance floor while others gossiped over expensive spirits. Kyro got three cups of wine, one for Tristan and two for himself. Frey had disappeared without a word at some point, but it’s not like he would have accepted a drink anyway. Downing both cups in an instant, Kyro felt invigorated and finally in the mood to celebrate.

“Your Highness,” he said dramatically, making an overexaggerated bow, “Would you allow this humble peasant the pleasure of a dance?”

Tristan laughed at the other’s absurd behavior, the sound warm and rich in Kyro’s ears.

“Alright, I suppose it is my duty to perform such acts of charity.” He grinned, barely having time to set down his half drained glass on a side table before Kyro whisked him onto the dance floor. Pairs of dancers swirled around each other, following a specific set of dance steps.

“Do you even know how to dance a traditional Tierian waltz?” Tristan asked with a smirk.

“Not in the slightest,” Kyro answered before pulling Tristan in close, placing a hand on his lower back, and starting to move in a random direction.

Tristan struggled to keep a straight face as they clumsily made their way around the dance floor, Kyro confidently leading them against the current. After several near misses with other disapproving couples, Tristan pulled them off to the side, unable to stand up straight. He couldn’t help but laugh until his knees grew weak, wrapping his arms around Kyro’s neck for support.

“I wasn’t that bad,” Kyro said, sulking at Tristan’s ridicule.

“We nearly crashed a dozen times, plus I think you owe my feet an apology for the number of times you stepped on them.” Tristan raised an eyebrow while Kyro continued to pout. Tristan broke apart from Kyro when he felt someone come up to them.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” a feminine voice said. Eris curtsied deeply, her low-cut gossamer gown a midnight blue and decorated with glittering diamonds, the perfect imitation of the night sky. She didn’t forget to incline her head politely in Kyro’s direction. “I was hoping you would join me for a dance.”

Tristan hesitated for a few moments, glancing at Kyro out of the corner of his eye, but his sense of duty and Eris’s pleading eyes won out in the end.

“Of course, Miss Gria, I would be honored.” He gave Kyro an apologetic look as he offered her his hand, leading them onto the dance floor. Kyro was displeased, but knew better than to have a repeat of his last fit of jealousy. He remained off to the side, slowly drinking another cup of wine as he monitored the scene for security. Tristan ended up being cornered several times by brownnosers wanting to ingratiate themselves to him, and it was nearly midnight before he could extricate himself from the banal conversations, using the burning ceremony as an excuse.

“Come on, Kyro,” Tristan said breathlessly as he grabbed Kyro’s hand, running out to the bonfire. The moon was high above, thick smoke curling into the air from the bonfire as if to reach toward it. They had made it just in time for Tristan to commence the burning ceremony. After another impressive speech, he picked up the bucket they had filled with the memories of his self-destructive outburst and ejected its contents into the bonfire; Kyro could see a single gold coin, bent in half, mixed in with the wooden shards. This prompted everyone else to start tossing their belongings into the fire as well. From the castle’s vantage point over the city, Kyro could see countless other fires lit throughout Lorelai all blaze up at the same time as people simultaneously fed the flames.  _ Night of a Thousand Lights, huh, _ he thought with bemusement.

Kyro approached the crackling bonfire and removed a folded slip of paper from his jacket pocket. In the days leading up to the festival, he had spent hours in front of a blank piece of paper, struggling to come up with the right words to say. Although the distressing events from earlier that year couldn’t have felt farther away, the pain didn’t hurt any less. In the end, all Kyro could manage to write was ‘I’m sorry.’ He knew this didn’t absolve him of the guilt that still ate away at his core, but perhaps the Tierians had the right idea and it was at least a step toward healing. Kyro let the note fall out of his hand, carried on a small breeze into the waiting flames. His words glowed for a few moments before incinerating into ash, flying into the sky and scattering on the wind.

Tristan placed a comforting hand on his shoulder after watching Kyro from afar, offering him a small smile. The lively glow of the bonfire played across the strong angles of Kyro’s face before illuminating the devilish grin that suddenly appeared. He grabbed Tristan’s hand and pulled him away from the festivities, back into the castle.

“Tristan, remember how you said you wish you could just be yourself, without all the titles and responsibilities?” Kyro said in an excited voice.

Tristan nodded, not sure where Kyro was going with this particular line of thinking.

“Well, why not, at least for a night?” His amber eyes seemed to sparkle. “The castle guards frequently talk about small settlements just outside of Lorelai, where nomadic people live freely and earnestly, unlike these stuffy and two-faced aristocrats. Surely they’re also celebrating tonight! We can sneak out of the castle and make a quick trip, no one will even know we’re gone.”

Tristan was astounded by Kyro’s proposal, he had never left the castle unbidden before, let alone disguising his identity.

“I-I don’t know Kyro, what if they recognize me?” Tristan said.

“Even if they do recognize you, I bet everyone will be too drunk to notice,” he snorted.

Tristan was quiet for a few moments before making his decision.

“Alright,” he said, nervous excitement beginning to bubble up within him. “Let’s do it.”

Kyro cheered as they ran upstairs, changing into their most unassuming clothes and donning thick riding cloaks. Avoiding drunken party goers who stumbled about the castle, they had just made it to the stables when a breathless voice called out to them.

“Y-Your Highness, Kyro,” Piri gasped. “Where are you two going?” She had seen them running through the castle dressed quite peculiarly and managed to chase them all the way to the stables.

“Piri!” Kyro said. “Great, cover for us, will you?”

“Wh-what?” she said in bewilderment as the two saddled their horses and mounted them.

“Lock our rooms and if anyone asks where we are, make something up!” Kyro directed his horse to move out, Tristan following right behind. They slipped into the city thanks to a relaxed night watch, winding through the labyrinthine streets of Lorelai under the cover of darkness. They passed innumerable bonfires and partiers, all who paid them no attention. It wasn’t until they had actually left the city limits that they kicked their horses into a full gallop. Kyro shouted out in exhilaration, wind whipping his hair about wildly as they tore across the open plains with only the light of the moon to see by.

Even Tristan had shaken some of his earlier anxiety, grinning from ear to ear. They rode hard for a while until the familiar glow of a blazing bonfire greeted them. Not so much an established settlement, but a bustling campground came into view as they slowed their approach. People were dancing and singing while some opted for sitting by the fire, others still eating and drinking merrily. The environment felt warm and inviting, as everyone had a smile on their face, all very much drunk to some degree.

“Hey!” Someone shouted at them as they were finally spotted. Two men supporting each other staggered over, one nearly spilling the contents of his flask all over the ground. Kyro and Tristan dismounted and slowly walked up to them.

“What’re y’all doin’ ridin’ around tonight?” One of the men, stocky with a thick beard asked.

“We’re just travelers and happened to see your fire,” Kyro said in a friendly tone.

“Well, ya picked a helluva night to stumble upon our lil’ camp,” he roared, laughing deeply. “Come join us, everyone’s welcome during Firelight! Name’s Mort.” Mort extended an arm to Kyro, which he grasped firmly.

The other, considerably drunker man also piped up.

“Jett,” he hiccuped, taking a messy swig from his flask.

“Thanks, I’m Kyro,” he grinned, nudging Tristan with his elbow.

“Tris, pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Mort threw his free arm around Kyro’s shoulder and led them back to the camp. The rest of the group greeted them with just as much gusto, pouring them drinks and slapping them on the back as if they were old friends. Kyro kept a firm grip on Tristan’s hand, making sure they were never separated. He knocked back the sour ale as everyone cheered, easily joining in on the revelry. At some point almost everyone chatted with them, but only about the most random and sometimes incoherent things. Maybe it was because they were all stupidly drunk, but no one cared about who they were or where they came from. Kyro laughed along to the tales the inebriated men recounted, many of which got bawdier and more ridiculous as time went on. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tristan crack a smile a few times, slowly draining his cup.

“Trisssssss,” Kyro slurred, grabbing Tristan’s attention. “Dance with me!” He dragged Tristan to his feet from where they sat by the crackling bonfire, pulling him over to the throng of people moving about wildly. They couldn’t see where the music was coming from but it was a powerful mix of drums and some kind of woodwind instrument. Kyro grinned at Tristan as they spun and twirled, narrowly avoiding people dancing with the same amount of inhibition and sloppiness as they were. Everyone was laughing and singing in a drunken stupor.

When Tristan couldn’t dance any longer they broke away from the crowd, stumbling to the ground and falling against a large log that was used as a bench. Both of them were giddy and out of breath, the cool air feeling refreshing against their sweaty skin. Kyro held Tristan close, practically dragging him into his lap, as if he couldn’t stand for there to be any space between them. He leaned his head back against the log to look up at the sky when he noticed a lone figure sitting at the end.

“Ah, to be young,” a raspy voice said with a snicker.

Both of them looked over at an old woman, hunched over and watching the festivities from a distance.

“You two remind me of when I was your age, heh.”

Kyro ran a hand through his tousled hair, shifting his posture to sit up properly.

“We’re sorry if we disturbed you, madam,” Tristan said apologetically, always taught to be respectful toward elders. The old woman threw her head back and laughed.

“This ain’t no royal court,” she snickered. “But I reckon you two would know more about that than me.” She gave them a knowing look before continuing, “The festival’s almost over. Good little kids should return to their warm and safe beds.”

“We just wanted to get away for a bit,” Kyro said, glancing at Tristan.

“Aye, an’ what better night than Firelight to have some fun.” She sighed wistfully before continuing in a somber voice, “Did you know that instead of burning bad memories, the tradition used to be to bury positive feelings in the ground?”

“No,” Tristan said, intrigued. “What changed?”

“I dunno, but probably ‘cause you can’t till fields that are full of buried shit!” The old woman cackled. She withdrew a thin, rusted metal container from her robes and held it out to Tristan, bony hand trembling slightly. “Do me a favor an’ write somethin’ nice down, then bury it under the willow tree not far from here. It’s big an’ next to an old barn, can’t miss it. My old bones are too tired to make such a trip anymore.” She shook her head sadly. Tristan accepted the tin, opening it to see some paper and sticks of charcoal.

“We will,” Tristan promised, feeling that the act was something profound to the old lady. He grabbed Kyro’s hand and hauled both of them to their feet. Tristan wasn’t sure what else to say so he settled on a short ‘thank you and goodbye’ before walking back to their horses. The sky would indeed start to lighten soon so they had to be quick. He recalled passing the tree and abandoned barn the old woman mentioned on the way over, meaning it was thankfully on their way back to Lorelai. They came upon it after some time, about halfway between the two points. Tristan dismounted and hurried over to the base of the tree, its vast but barren branches hanging low.

“What do you think we should write?” Tristan asked as Kyro sat down beside him.

“How about a joke? Those always make me feel pretty positive.”

Tristan scowled, lightly punching Kyro in the arm.

“I don’t think that’s what she meant.” He thought for a moment, wondering what kind of message would be meaningful enough for the sanctity of Firelight. “What about words of encouragement, like something you’d want to hear if you’re feeling lost or uncertain?”

Kyro shrugged and agreed, not having any serious suggestions of his own to field. Tristan gave him a slip of paper and a stick of charcoal before sincerely debating what to write. Meanwhile, Kyro wrote down the first thing that came to his mind, folding up his piece of paper and placing it back in the box. He began to dig a shallow hole with a stick, whistling softly as he watched Tristan out of the corner of his eye. He smiled to himself at the sight of Tristan’s face scrunched up in concentration, diligently trying to come up with wise words befitting a king. Eventually, Tristan was satisfied with his results and folded the paper, enclosing it inside the container. He carefully placed the tin inside the well Kyro had dug and they covered it back up with dirt.

“It’s kind of a neat thing to do,” Tristan said, standing up and stretching his legs. “But I can see why it isn’t a good idea in the long term.”

The two quickly got on their horses and rode hard for Lorelai, racing against the rising sun. The city was still fast asleep from the previous night’s festivities as they made their way through the streets. Tristan and Kyro were quietly allowed back into the castle on sight; Kyro was extremely grateful the guards didn’t ask any questions or raise any alarms - the last thing he needed was a rebuking from Cytus.

By the time they reached Tristan’s room - Kyro having to first pick the lock as Piri had dutifully followed his instructions - the soft light of dawn was creeping in through the windows. Neither of them had the energy to properly change as they both collapsed into bed. Tristan passed out as soon as his head touched the pillow, energy completely drained from the long day. Kyro wrapped his arm around Tristan, pulling him in closer until he could comfortably nestle his face in the crook of Tristan’s neck. Kyro soon fell asleep to the scent of bonfire smoke and honey.


	17. Chapter 17

With autumn finally behind them, Kyro would finally get to experience the Tierian wintertime. He had long gotten accustomed to the clothing of Tieria, but still dreaded the thought of wearing even more layers on a daily basis. The mountains of Rien also experienced a cool season toward the end of the year, but one would only find snow higher up in the peaks that looked down upon the kingdom.

The first day there was significant snowfall, Kyro was ecstatic. It didn’t take much for him to get excited about the smallest things, but seeing the endless white powder drift down from the sky pushed him to another level. The castle servants who managed their wardrobe provided them with thick winter clothing and warm cloaks - even waterproof boots and gloves. He ran into one of the gardens and laid down on the ground, relishing the cold embrace of the snow that had accumulated overnight. The sky above him was a single mass of clouds, not a spot of blue or ray of sunlight peeking through. He laid motionless for a while, feeling a thin layer of ice begin to form on his skin.

“I’m not taking care of you if you become ill, you know.”

Tristan’s light voice came from across the courtyard. He leaned over the stone divider, still under the shelter of the castle, watching Kyro with a content look on his face. Kyro sat up and brushed the snowflakes from his head, looking around until he spotted Tristan.

“Damn, so my genius plan is foiled, huh?” he joked, breath clouding in front of him. Kyro got up and walked over to the half wall, standing in front of Tristan. “Piri said she’d teach me how to make snow sculptures. You should join us.”

“While regressing back into a child is clearly at the top of my to-do list, unfortunately my uncle has summoned me for a meeting.” Tristan looked up at Kyro, his violet eyes appearing even paler in the filtered light. “But I’ll come find you as soon as I’m done,” he said with a smile.

Kyro grinned broadly, patting Tristan’s head with a gloved hand.

“Don’t keep me waiting too long,” he said as he sent Tristan off with a wave.

Piri found Kyro sometime later and the two moved out to the castle’s main gate. Other young servants or small children of the castle’s inhabitants ran around in the snow, chasing one another with delightful squeals. She gave Kyro a masterclass on how to build snowmen and other common animals, reliving her childhood days with pleasure. To prevent Kyro from rolling all the available snow into an army of snowpeople, she pointed out how the kids were forming balls and throwing them at each other.

“Now  _ this  _ is more like it,” he said, an untamed look in his eyes. He pelted the snowdrift Piri cowered behind with snowballs, throwing with enough force that they exploded upon impact. The other children had come to Piri’s aid, all of them rising up against Kyro’s onslaught.

“Don’t hurt anyone, or me!” Piri shrieked, praying Kyro restrained his strength even just a little. Snowballs flew across the yard in waves, a couple glancing off Kyro as he dodged between them while several kids soon looked like they were wearing suits made of snow. They laughed and rolled around on the ground, giving up on the projectiles and ultimately rushing Kyro, knocking him down. Piri exhaled in relief when she confirmed no one was hurt, smiling at the heart-warming scene.

Kyro was in the middle of pretending to be in his final death throes, a pile of triumphant children holding him down, when a look of pure fear suddenly crossed his face. He swiftly got out from under the petulant kids, who were tugging on him to keep playing, but he shook them off and made a run for the castle. Piri corralled the small children, biting her lip. She knew something must be wrong with Tristan for Kyro to act in such a way. He tore through the castle, taking the stairs three steps at a time, until he was outside Tristan’s room.

“Tristan!” he yelled, rattling the locked doorknob. He could hear loud crashes from behind the door. Kyro ran back out into the hallway, trying to enter through his own room, but the connecting door was locked as well. He banged on the door, debating whether or not to kick it down, since he didn’t trust his shaking hands to try and pick a lock at the moment.

“I’m fine!” Tristan said through the door, his voice strained and cracking. “I just want to be alone for a bit.” He stood in the middle of his room, his belongings and pieces of furniture strewn about. Tristan kicked several piles of books over in frustration, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

“Talk to me, please,” Kyro begged. He knew Tristan wasn’t in any danger, but rather that he was incredibly upset. Something inside him had snapped, sending him into a blind rage. Tristan grunted as he flipped the writing desk on its side, letting out a guttural scream.

Kyro felt a tug at his sleeve; Piri had crept into his room without him noticing, pulling him aside. She wore a pained expression as they stepped out into the hall.

“What?” he said anxiously. “Do you know what’s wrong?”

Piri looked down at her feet, unable to meet his eyes.

“Kyro…” she began softly, unsure of how he would take the breaking news that had already spread through the castle like wildfire. “There’s been...a royal decree.”

He looked at her intently, dread snarling like a live beast in the pit of his stomach. She took a deep breath and continued.

“The Regent...has announced an engagement between the Lady Eris and the Crown Prince,” she said quietly. “They are to be married in a few weeks, right before the coronation.”

Kyro’s world came to a halt as he struggled to understand her words.

“Wha-but that’s ridiculous, doesn’t he get any say?” He would never believe Tristan agreed to it willingly.

“The Crown Prince is in a very difficult position,” she whispered. “The Regent is also his guardian, and it doesn’t help that all the councilmen are in support of the match.” Piri shook her head sadly.

Kyro felt like the ground was crumbling beneath him, unsure of how to react. He eventually defaulted to his first instinct, which was to be by Tristan’s side. Kyro pushed past Piri and entered the antechamber before Tristan’s bedroom. He slowly let out a deep breath then kicked forcefully at the door, the wood splintering and caving in on itself. Tristan was sitting on the edge of his bed, head in his hands.

“I thought we agreed, no more running away,” Kyro said flatly.

Tristan let out a dark laugh, looking up at Kyro with red eyes, wet streaks glistening on his cheeks.

“Can’t really be considered running if I’m being forced, no?” he said bitterly.

“So don’t let anyone make you do something you don’t want to.” Kyro took a few steps forward until he was standing in front of Tristan. “ _ You’re _ going to be  _ their  _ king, don’t let them forget that.”

Tristan didn’t know whether to cry or scream, although he had already done a considerable amount of both. He desperately wanted to believe in the conviction of Kyro’s words but a small seed of doubt was still planted deep inside him. What was he hoping for by turning Eris away? Wasn’t it objectively the best future he could achieve? His uncle was actually giving him a way out from the dark pit he had dug himself into, one that would undoubtedly cave in before long, leaving him to suffocate alone in the darkness.

“What does it matter to you, anyway,” Tristan finally said, his voice full of defeat. He was infinitely exhausted by everything he was embroiled in, since the day he was born.

Kyro opened his mouth to speak but shut it before anything came out. He had already realized his answer a week ago, when they sat under the willow tree with the moon bearing witness. But things weren’t that simple, and Kyro knew it. Not able to bring himself to answer Tristan in the way he wanted, Kyro left without another word. Tristan collapsed backwards onto his bed, Kyro’s words looping in his mind.

The two steered clear of each other, not from animosity or resentment like before, but because it genuinely hurt too much for them to face one another. Although for Kyro, it was harder to get Tristan out of his mind since it seemed he was subconsciously attuned to pick up on Tristan’s turbulent aura no matter where he went.

Days passed and snow continued to fall, blanketing Lorelai under a soft layer of white. The ever falling snow made the world seem eerily quiet, muffling all sounds of life to a low murmur. People were forced to stay inside due to the weather, leaving the city streets empty and desolate. Despite the unprecedented blizzard rolling through, making it seem like everyone had gone into hibernation early, inside the castle was a flurry of activity. All hands were busy rushing to prepare for the royal wedding that was less than a fortnight away.

Tristan refused to give his input on anything when it came to the wedding arrangements, leaving all the decisions to Eris. She, along with her mother, was residing in one of the castle’s guest suites for the time being. Eris tried to approach Tristan several times, wanting nothing more than to at least be on amicable terms with him, but was shut out completely. Tristan knew he was being awful to her and that his behavior wasn’t fair, but he couldn’t bring himself to treat her kindly. It inexplicably felt like a betrayal of his feelings if he did. He spent the majority of his days locked in his room, lost in a daze with no clear path forward.

To keep his distance from Tristan, Kyro spent every waking moment decidedly not in his room. He spent his time helping Piri with various tasks or sulking in the stables with Percival. At that point, Kyro felt like he would rather be chained to Frey than look Tristan in the eye. Late one afternoon, he was assisting the castle guards in shoveling snow when Cytus briskly walked up to him.

“You haven’t seen the Crown Prince, have you?” he asked without any preface.

Kyro frowned, shaking his head.

“He’s not in his room?”

“The Lady Eris went to check on him earlier, but she received no reply. Usually he would...ask her to leave.” Cytus struggled to phrase Tristan’s blunt disrespect of Eris in a polite way. “But after not hearing from him, she tried to open the door and found it unlocked. The Crown Prince was nowhere to be seen.”

Kyro wondered if Tristan had run away to the tower again, and hurriedly ran back inside to check, Cytus fast on his heels. He stood in Tristan’s room, feeling for his aura, not finding him anywhere, even in the tower. His eyebrows furrowed in concern as he shook his head.

“He’s not here, but I’ll check the rest of the castle.”

Cytus said nothing of Kyro’s cryptic methods but simply nodded his head, trusting in his words. Kyro once again made his way through the castle, stretching his aura out as far as he could to check every floor. When he couldn’t find Tristan within the castle grounds, Kyro even jumped on his horse and did a speedrun of the city. By the time he returned, flushed from the cold air and shaking off a sizable layer of snow, Cytus had gathered most of the castle’s head staff in his office to search for Tristan one last time before declaring him missing to Darius. Frey stood tall and silent in the corner, listening carefully and scrutinizing everyone with his sharp eyes.

“What did I miss?” Kyro said, pushing himself into the crowded room.

“Piri said she had last seen the Crown Prince headed toward the stables and spoke to him briefly, but no one has seen him since,” Cytus repeated.

“I-I was so surprised to see him out and about, I stopped to ask what he was doing. He said he needed to find some encouragement, so I figured that meant he was visiting Perciv-” Piri squealed mid-word as Kyro roughly grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers digging in painfully.

“ _ What did you say? _ ” he roared, eyes wide with terror.

“H-he said he was l-looking for encouragement?” Piri sobbed, frightened by Kyro’s outburst.

His heart tightened as his thoughts raced wildly.  _ No, he couldn’t have...that idiot! _ Kyro released Piri and turned to address Frey and Cytus.

“I might know where he is, but keep everyone searching in case he returns. If I’m not back by morning, alert the Regent,” he commanded before rushing out of the room. Kyro made a beeline for the stables, a sinking feeling in the depths of his soul. His fears seemed to be confirmed when he couldn’t find Tristan’s horse in its stall.

“Dammit, Tristan!” he cursed, kicking the stone wall in anguish. The horses kept in the castle stables were raised primarily for leisure - Kyro’s own horse even struggled to run through the snowy streets of Lorelai, weary from the exertion. But there was no time to try and secure an alternative, for every second was of literal life and death. Kyro had no other choice. He grabbed a bridle with attached reins from off the wall and rushed over to the large black warhorse.

“Percy,” he said in a soft tone. “Tristan needs us,  _ please _ , cooperate just this once,” he pleaded with the powerful beast, voice cracking and tears forming in his eyes. Kyro was trying his best to not break down, immensely thankful that Percival seemed to sense the direness of the situation, not fighting back as Kyro quickly secured the bridle around its snout. He didn’t even bother with a saddle before climbing onto the horse’s broad back and urging it forward. Although the warhorse was older than most of the others in the stables, it had been through countless difficult situations and stood at an impressive height. The two burst out of the city, a black blur against the fading twilight.

They cut across the open plains, kicking up a storm of snow in their wake. However, snow continued to fall relentlessly from overhead, chilling Kyro to his bones. Luckily he had already been wearing outdoor gear, but he couldn’t avoid the cold bite of winter completely. Percival galloped at an incredible speed and Kyro’s heart lurched when he finally felt a wisp of Tristan’s aura. He grit his teeth, spurring Percival to go even faster, as tears turned to ice crystals on his cheeks.

When they reached the location of the willow tree, Kyro practically flew from Percival’s back, stumbling through the knee-high snow. He cried out as he spotted two shapes at the base of the willow tree, one releasing a small avalanche of snow as it turned its large head toward them. Tristan’s horse was sitting loyally beside him, trying to brush the accumulated snow off his body and nudging him for a response, but to no avail. Tristan lay unconscious under a blanket of white, deathly still, a rusty box frozen between his hands. Kyro could feel how weak he was which nearly caused his heart to stop beating, but all that mattered was that he was still alive. The blizzard around them had whipped up into a frenzy, slicing at them with freezing winds. Kyro carefully gathered Tristan in his arms and ran into the derelict barn, the two horses following closely behind him.

He laid Tristan down on a mound of old hay that was nearly bleached white from exposure to the elements, taking off his cloak and draping it over him. There were the blessed remains of a campfire from the last traveler to have stopped in the barn for shelter, and Kyro was able to get a small fire going. He felt a little relief over getting Tristan out of immediate danger, but his condition was still critical. Kyro quickly removed all the clothing from their upper bodies before pulling Tristan into his arms and wrapping the mess of fabric around them. He flinched involuntarily, for Tristan’s skin felt like ice. Even the soulstone pendant that Tristan continued to wear, which normally gave off its own bit of warmth, was cold to the touch. Kyro hugged Tristan tighter, nestled between the two horses who sat on either side of them.

In the pre-dawn light, Kyro could see that Tristan's state had improved slightly, with some color returning to his skin and his pulse a little stronger. The snow outside had slowed to a gentle flurry, so Kyro stiffly got up and began to prepare for their trip back. He only put his shirt back on before bundling Tristan up with every other piece of cloth they had, tucking the container Tristan had risked his life to dig up within the numerous folds. The trip back was considerably slower, as they had to wait for Tristan’s horse to keep pace with Percival’s long strides, but the weather thankfully wasn’t nearly as fierce as it had been just the night before. Kyro fought to keep awake atop Percival, having stayed up all night to monitor Tristan, but he maintained a deathgrip on the reins, keeping Tristan balanced between his arms. Kyro and both horses were well past their limit by the time they stumbled into Lorelai, dragging themselves with every last bit of energy up to the castle. It was still the early hours of the morning when everyone else was still asleep but Frey and Cytus immediately received them, passing the exhausted horses off to drowsy stablehands to take care of.

As much as Kyro hated it, he had to let Frey take Tristan from him, otherwise he wouldn’t have the energy to make it upstairs. Cytus had left to wake the castle doctors while the two of them silently made their way to Tristan’s room. After Frey had settled Tristan into his bed, Kyro gave him a meaningful nod before slipping into his own room, trusting the other man to keep watch over Tristan. The moment he made it to his bed, Kyro collapsed onto it, vision going black as he fell unconscious.

Tristan slowly woke to the sight of a familiar ceiling, joints achingly stiff and brain muddled. He looked about in confusion until his eyes snapped to the dirty tin that sat on his bedside table.

“How are you feeling?” Frey asked from beside him, diverting Tristan’s attention. His eyes showed concern but his voice was hard.

“Tired and weak, but alright,” Tristan answered quietly. “What happened?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said in a reproachful tone.

Tristan withered under his disapproving look.

“I’m sorry...” he mumbled.

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to, I think,” Frey said.

Suddenly, Tristan’s heart began to beat rapidly in panic. No one but Kyro would have known where he went.

“Where is he? Is he okay?” he asked in alarm.

“Sleeping in his room, and probably, although he’s currently running a fever.”

Tristan tried to swallow but a lump had formed in his throat.

“Thank you, Frey, but I’d like to rest alone for a while.”

Frey sighed but nodded, knowing any more rebukes would fall on deaf ears.

“Call for me if you need anything,” Frey said before exiting the room.

Once Tristan was alone, he reached for the metal container and unlatched it, heart pounding in his chest. The box had only been buried for a few weeks, so its contents were practically in the same condition as they had left it despite the endless snowfall. Tristan’s fingers shook as he picked up the note Kyro had written, pausing before unfolding it. He knew it was incredibly stupid, risking his life to read what was most likely a joke or even gibberish written by Kyro in a half drunken state, but somehow he had an inexplicable need to go back and dig it up. As if in his state of uncertainty, the only thing that could bring him comfort were the words Kyro had chosen on the night when they had felt the closest to each other.

Tristan unfolded the piece of paper, holding his breath. He expected to read something completely trivial or irrelevant, but instead was immediately brought to tears, shaken to his core. He read the words over and over, committing the smudged and crooked letters to memory. Tristan couldn’t stop sobbing, feeling like he was finally purging his body of all the negative and poisonous emotions he had carried with him from a young age. He eventually cried himself back to sleep, clutching the note to his chest. The only thing filling his mind were the three words Kyro had written:  _ I love you. _

When Tristan finally woke up again, it was well into the afternoon. Judging by the fact that he was alone, he guessed Kyro was still resting. Although he wanted nothing more than to see Kyro immediately, Tristan had one very important matter to attend to before he felt like he had the right to face him. Kyro’s confession was still in his hand, so the first thing he did was carefully refold it and return it to the metal container. Then he stashed the entire box with the rest of his keepsakes under his bed. He got up and took some time to carefully wash up in the bathroom, relishing the feel of the clean, hot water on his skin. After putting on a fresh set of clothes, he felt ready to confront his uncle.

Tristan made his way to his uncle’s study, heart beating fast and palms sweating. He was frightened of his uncle’s wrath, knowing that the ruthless man still wanted him dead. But Tristan had to stand up to Darius for once in his life, since now it wasn’t even just concerning himself - he knew he was no longer alone. Tristan took a deep breath and knocked.

“Come in,” a deep voice said from beyond the door.

Tristan steeled himself and entered the room. 

“Ah, Nephew. I was wondering where you were, still sulking like a child?” Darius sneered, not looking up from the letter he was writing. “I heard you’re still being incredibly rude to Miss Gria, which is simply unacceptable. You  _ will _ fix your behavior and stop acting so foolish.”

“I’m not going to marry her,” Tristan said clearly.

Darius put down his pen and looked up, his eyes cold and dark. 

“What did you say?”

“I will not be marrying Eris, and my decision is final. I’m sorry if that puts a damper on your plans, Uncle.” Tristan met Darius’s glare with equal force. 

“How dare you!” Darius roared. “Impudent brat, you will listen to me - do not forget I am your guardian but more importantly the Regent of this country.”

Tristan crossed the room and stood in front of Darius, slamming his fist on the hardwood desk with a sharp crack. 

“And don’t  _ you _ forget that I will soon be king and whatever you think will matter not.” His eyes blazed with fury as he stared Darius down. The older man stood up swiftly and moved to backhand Tristan, but Kyro’s training had prepared his reflexes for such an attack. Tristan grabbed Darius’s wrist before the blow landed and twisted it backward. Darius’s face was contorted in rage, lips pulled back in a snarl as he shook off Tristan’s grip.

“Fine then, have it your way, you useless boy,” he spat.

Tristan gave him one last scathing look before he left, slamming the door behind him. Darius was left seething at his desk, sweeping everything off of it in anger.  _ It must be that Rien scum _ , he thought with vitriol.  _ He has far overstayed his visit...it’s time to remove him from the picture once and for all.  _

***

Tristan stood outside the door to Eris’s suite, surprisingly more nervous than when he had confronted his uncle. He honestly had no ill will toward the girl, and since the very first time they had danced at Darius’s party, knew she was being forced to approach him by her father. This made his recent attitude toward her completely reprehensible and he felt deep shame for his actions. After taking a few moments to swallow his pride, he knocked softly on the door.

“Eris? It’s Tristan. Can we talk?”

He could hear a bit of shuffling from the other side before the door swung open. Eris stood in the doorway, wearing a pale lavender gown and a thick cream shawl around her shoulders.

“Your Highness, of course. Please come in,” she stepped back and bowed, closing the door once Tristan was inside.

A crackling fire warmed the sitting room, casting a sunny glow on her snowy skin. Although she looked beautiful and composed as usual, Tristan could see a gauntness in her eyes. He mentally kicked himself for her current state of distress, knowing it was all his fault. Unsure of how to broach the subject and staring at her awkwardly, Tristan suddenly bent over in a ninety degree bow, causing Eris to flinch in surprise.

“I beg your forgiveness, Eris, but I cannot marry you,” he said. “I apologize for my monstrous behavior, when you were just trying to make the best of the situation. I swear if there is anything I can do to make up for it, I will.” Tristan remained facing the ground, waiting with bated breath for her response. After what felt like an eternity to him, the silence was broken by a light laugh. Tristan looked up to see Eris smiling, relief easing the tense lines of her body.

“There is nothing to forgive, Your Highness. If our positions were switched, I dare say I would have acted in the same way. Believe me, it brings me no joy to come between two people.” Eris’s lips formed into a coy smile before she continued. “You love him, don’t you?”

Tristan straightened out in jerky movements, every inch of his skin flushing bright red.

“Y-yes,” he coughed. It felt odd to speak his feelings aloud so honestly for the first time in his life, but his heart felt liberated at the same time.

“Then there is no more to discuss, I agree to the dissolution of the engagement.”

Tristan’s eyes welled with emotion, eternally grateful for Eris’s empathy.

“Thank you, Eris. Your understanding means the world to me.” He paused before continuing quietly but with conviction, “And if your father so much as  _ thinks  _ about blaming this on you or punishing you in any way, let me know immediately and I will make him regret it.”

Eris gave Tristan a small, sad smile before nodding.

“I wish you great happiness, Your Highness.”

Tristan bowed deeply one last time before turning to leave.

After departing from Eris’s suite, Tristan couldn’t return to his room fast enough. He froze in front of the door connecting their rooms, heart fluttering in his chest. Feeling like it was going to fly out on its own, he clamped his mouth shut and slowly pushed the door open.

Kyro’s room was quiet and still, save for the soft sounds of his breathing. He lay in his bed sleeping, face neutral and calm. At some point he must have woken up to use the bathroom, for his hair was loose and slightly damp, and his riding clothes were in a heap on the ground. Tristan walked over and placed a hand on his forehead; Kyro was still on the warm side, but it seemed like the fever had mainly run its course. Tristan sighed in relief, thankful that their journey through the blizzard had no lasting effects on their health. He didn’t want to wake Kyro just yet, so he slipped under the covers and curled up beside him.

Tristan dozed for a while, not quite sure how long he had been napping when he slowly blinked his eyes open. He recoiled in surprise, finding Kyro’s face inches from his, golden eyes staring at him intently. Tristan tried to sit up, but Kyro had one arm over him, pushing him back down.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Kyro mumbled, his mind still hazy from his slumber. He began to sleepily play with Tristan’s hair, weaving the gilded strands between his fingers like he had yearned to do for so long.

“J-just...you know...th-things to do…” he stuttered lamely, straining against Kyro’s arms.

Kyro muttered something incoherent in response, pulling Tristan in against his chest, almost like a child wanting to sleep but needing something to hold. Tristan felt the warmth of Kyro’s skin transfer to his face as he listened to the strong heartbeat. It was steady and regular, not at all like his own, which was jumpy and erratic. After a period of silence so long Tristan thought Kyro had indeed fallen back asleep, he heard Kyro whisper into his ear.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

Tristan buried his face in Kyro’s chest and nodded, unable to hold back a fresh wave of tears. Kyro breathed out deeply and gently stroked Tristan’s head, feeling the wetness spill onto his bare skin.

“I’m...s-sorry,” he hiccuped.

“What for?” Kyro shushed. “You didn’t ask to be born so stupid.”

Tristan’s crying was cut short by laughter at Kyro’s familiar taunting.

“I spoke to my uncle,” he said quietly, sniffling.

Kyro’s expression turned serious as he sat up, pulling Tristan onto his lap. He used his thumbs to wipe away the teardrops that still clung to Tristan’s flushed cheeks.

“How did he take it?”

“Not well,” Tristan said scornfully. “But your words gave me the courage to finally speak my mind.” He wore a coy smile, not specifying whether he was referring to Kyro’s earlier advice or the note. Tristan leaned forward until their foreheads were touching, lacing their fingers together. “I’m just sorry it took so long,” he murmured.

Neither of them knew how to deal with the impending future, but for the moment all that mattered was that they would face it together. Kyro moved his hands to Tristan’s hips, scooting him forward until their lower bodies were flush. Tristan scrambled to place his hands on Kyro’s shoulders to create some distance between them, shy and self-conscious. Kyro chuckled at Tristan’s adorable reaction, wanting to tease him further. He grabbed Tristan’s wrists before he could react, causing him to lose his balance and fall against Kyro’s chest. Kyro trailed his lips along the curve of Tristan’s exposed neck, following it all the way up to his blushing ear. He could feel Tristan trembling as he bit down on his ear lobe, sucking and tugging on it gently. Tristan thought his heart was going to explode, it was beating so fast. His breathing was ragged and shallow, mind going blank when he heard Kyro growling in his ear.

It wasn’t enough for him, he desperately needed more of Tristan or he felt like he was going to go insane. Kyro drew back and looked into Tristan’s eyes, which were like two glass beads, reflecting all of him.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked breathlessly.

Tristan lost his ability to speak, only managing to nod in response. Fear and trepidation mingled with desire and excitement as Kyro descended upon him, unable to wait a moment longer. Tristan’s lips were softer than he could have ever imagined, quickly growing red and swollen from the assault. Kyro bore down on Tristan like a man dying of thirst, only to come across a life-giving pool of clear water. He released his grip on Tristan’s wrists and cupped the back of his head gently but firmly, while the other hand trailed down Tristan’s thin waist. Kyro greedily entered his mouth, exploring the warm space and entwining Tristan’s tongue with his own. Tristan returned his hands to Kyro’s shoulders, gripping the hard and tense muscles. He felt like he was floating, surrendering himself under Kyro’s touch, and unconsciously let his aura overflow in pure bliss.

Kyro suddenly felt his world expanding, as if he could count every individual snowflake that fell from the sky or feel and track the imperceptible movements of small animals hibernating deep below the ground. He could sense the warmth from Tristan’s aura pulsing within him, mingling with his own. Kyro jerked back in surprise, staring at Tristan, both of them flushed and breathing hard. He didn’t know how to react to his revelation while Tristan had an unfocused but confused look on his face, starting to worry if something was wrong.

“Tristan,” Kyro said in between gasps of air, a smile forming on his face. “I know what your aura does.”

Tristan looked at him in bewilderment, unsure of how this fact was related to their previous activity. Kyro threw his head back and laughed, drawing Tristan into an embrace.

“Your ability is amplification, you can strengthen the effects of other people’s auras.” Everything began to make more sense, like how he couldn’t seem to do anything on his own or why the negative effects of the dream eater’s aura were greatly magnified when used on him.

Kyro buried his face in Tristan’s neck, feeling perfect contentment. Tristan hugged Kyro tightly, slowly processing the information. He couldn’t believe it, he actually had an ability all this time. Tristan was overcome with too many emotions at once, feeling like he was about to cry again. The passion from earlier burned down to a tender heat, enveloping them in warmth as they lay in each other’s arms, not speaking or even looking at one another but still feeling a deep connection between them.


	18. Chapter 18

What were once wedding preparations quickly transformed into plans for Tristan’s birthday and coronation celebration. The winter solstice was fast approaching, and soon he would finally be granted his birthright. It was a bittersweet feeling for the both of them, looking back on almost a full year of getting to know each other. Although the goal from their original arrangement would soon be achieved, things were far from how either of them imagined it would be. They decided to set aside their apprehension about the future after Tristan was crowned and focus on the time they currently had with each other. And for Kyro, that meant losing his mind over what to give Tristan for his birthday.

“What am I supposed to get someone who is about to get an entire kingdom, Piri?” Kyro paced a trench into the ground, circling the room like a caged animal. Piri ignored his dizzying movements, focusing on the dress she was mending.

“Well, what are your options so far?”

“I was thinking about a custom saber, expertly crafted and perfectly balanced, but Tristan’s no warrior. It’d be nice but he wouldn’t truly appreciate it, you know?” Kyro spun a chair around on one of its legs before stopping it and sitting on it backward. He rested his chin on the back, sighing. “I also considered giving him a ring, but-but, you know, that’s just, it’s ridiculous, too much, absolutely not,” he spluttered.

Piri giggled, wishing the crown prince could see Kyro now.

“Hm, you don’t have any personal possessions you could give him, right?”

Kyro thought for a brief moment; the only thing of value that he really had was his soulstone pendant, which he had basically already given to Tristan ages ago. And Tristan’s hair was far too fine to make use of his hair clasp - not to mention giving him a hair accessory wasn’t much of a gift to begin with.

“No,” he sighed dejectedly. Kyro knit his brows in frustration. Someone like Tristan who wasn’t keen on material goods was impossible to find a gift for.

“Well, I personally think going the creative route is a good idea for sentimental people. Something you made yourself is far more meaningful than anything you could buy from a store.” Piri had a wistful look on her face as she continued to give him ideas. “Also, nothing beats a romantic dinner, you can’t forget that. Oh, and for couples, matching gifts are a must!”

“Are you sure you’re not just describing your own ideal date?” Kyro chuckled.

Piri shot him a look, lobbing a pin cushion in his direction.

“No, because if it were  _ my  _ perfect date, there would be flowers involved!” She chased him out of the room with a barrage of sewing tools, urging him to get a move on. Kyro didn’t have all that much time to prepare a surprise before Tristan’s birthday.

In the end, Kyro settled on a mash-up of several things. He would set up a romantic dinner with all of Tristan’s favorite dishes, give him a hand crafted matching couples gift, hell, he would even throw in some flowers. At this point Kyro just tried to cover all his bases in desperation. He decided he would surprise Tristan the night before his actual birthday, since the day of would be endless tiresome and formal banquets for Tristan to suffer through. That gave him just less than a week to get everything together.

The first and the last things were of little concern, but the physical gift for Tristan would be the most difficult. Unable to come up with a good plan to recover his necklace, Kyro simply asked for it back. Tristan handed it over without a second thought, much to Kyro’s relief. He was glad that when it came to some things, Tristan never thought too deeply.

Kyro had decided to recarve the soulstone disc into two new pendants, one for each of them. He only had the rounded circle with a hole already cut in the center to work with, however, so he had to be incredibly careful. He visited all the jewelers and stonemasons in Lorelai he could find, asking them for advice on how to carve the stone. They kindly let him practice on spare materials and lent him proper tools, all knowing for whom it was intended for. After several prototypes and tests, Kyro finally felt ready for the real thing.

He was a ball of nerves, palms slick with sweat, staring at the rock in front of him. His mind envisioned a hundred different ways for him to fail, ruining the piece beyond repair. But all he could do was take a deep breath, wipe his hands on his pants, and begin. The soulstone felt different from all the other types of rocks he had practiced on - there was almost some part of it that felt alive. Kyro began to slice into the white stone, feeling as if it were pushing back at him. He frowned, not wanting to make a mistake. Beads of sweat rolled down his face as he concentrated and strained, eventually resorting to utilizing his own aura to restrain the turbulent pressure the stone exuded to keep it from fracturing.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally had two whole pieces on the desk before him. Kyro leaned back and exhaled, hands shaking from holding the same position for too long. Since he didn’t have much material to work with, he had carved an eight pointed star around the center hole. After sanding and polishing both pieces, the interior star fit smoothly inside the outer circle. Kyro ran a delicate silver chain through the hole, lifting the star shaped pendant into the air. He was pretty satisfied with the results, and hoped Tristan thought it wasn’t too crude or amateurish.

Kyro refastened the original leather strap around the larger piece and hung it around his neck. It had been a long time since he last felt the comforting touch of the cream stone against his sternum, but despite being significantly lighter in weight, it still was like coming home. He pocketed the second necklace and left his room to make the final preparations.

Unfortunately, due to the fact that winter was in full swing, his flower options were quite limited. However, very fortunately, one of the common blooms of the colder months was a small, multi petaled flower called the viola. Its rounded petals were of a light purple color with a yellow center and Kyro thought it was perfect. He hoped he wouldn’t be arrested for vandalism, running around the city and all the castle’s gardens, picking as many as he could. Just as luckily, Tristan was extremely busy with all the last minute groundwork for his coronation and as such, they saw very little of each other all day.

The location for Tristan’s birthday surprise was the tower room. Kyro had cleaned it out thoroughly, setting up a pallet covered with silken cushions and blankets toward the back wall. He carefully brought up a floor table to match the height of the pallet so they could eat while sitting on the ground, like he did back in Rien. Kyro decorated the small room with a few side tables, loading each of them up with aromatic candles, scattering more violas around to finish the effect. Piri helped him bring up all the food once it was prepared, and finally it was time to leave a trail for Tristan and wait.

Tristan returned to his room in the evening, exhausted from the endless cycle of decision making, dress rehearsals, speech memorizing - the list went on. Those days he hadn’t even had time to have a full conversation with Kyro, let alone a proper meal. He pinched his nose bridge, trying to dispel the headache he cultivated during the last meeting, when he spied a mass of purple flowers on his bed. Tristan examined the odd sight, finding a note on top that read ‘Follow the flowers.’ He saw a line of purple leading off the bed and around through the courtyard, the vibrant petals a stark contrast against the snow. Tristan followed the path all the way up the tower, until he reached the circular room at the top.

When he opened the door, he was stunned into silence by the breathtaking sight. The soft glow of the candles mixed with moonlight danced along the stone walls while generous piles of violas were littered throughout the room. Kyro sat waiting for him by a low table spread with all of his favorite foods. He stood up and grinned when he saw Tristan, holding his arms out wide.

“Happy birthday, Tristan.”

Tristan ran into his arms, heart swelling with joy.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling so hard it hurt. “This is amazing, Kyro, I’ve never had such a wonderful birthday before.” He really meant it too, for all his previous birthdays were impersonal banquets full of guests who only wanted to get on Tristan’s good side rather than actually see him happy.

“Heh, it was nothing, really,” he lied. Kyro had been extremely stressed about making sure everything was perfect. He helped Tristan down before piling food onto a plate in front of him. “I hope you’re hungry, everything was made especially for you.”

Tristan was famished, realizing he had been skipping meals here and there amid the coronation madness, and eagerly dug into the food. Kyro watched him eat with a satisfied expression on his face, knowing that Tristan probably wasn’t eating properly. They ate and chatted for a while, catching up on what the other had been up to for the past week. Tristan couldn’t wait for everything regarding his coronation to be over, although at the back of his mind that only signified Kyro’s eventual departure.

After they had eaten their fill, they pushed the table out of the way and reclined on the pallet, Tristan snuggling into Kyro’s arms.

“By the way, when’s your birthday?” Tristan asked suddenly, realizing they had spent nearly a year together yet the topic of Kyro’s birthday hadn’t occurred.

“It was during the summer,” Kyro said casually.

Tristan shot up in alarm, looking at the other incredulously.

“When? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, you might not recall this, but it was during those couple of weeks when you thought I was literally the worst person in the world,” Kyro snorted.

Tristan groaned, collapsing back onto the pallet in shame.

“I’m so sorry, Kyro, my behavior back then was absolutely inexcusable,” he sighed. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Kyro sat up and dragged Tristan back into his arms, setting his head in the crook of his neck and shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, kissing the top of Tristan’s head. “You’ve already given me more than enough.”

“That’s my line,” Tristan mumbled.

“Speaking of,” Kyro began, reaching into his pocket. “This is for you.” He held the necklace out by its chain, the star shaped pendant spinning and reflecting light in every direction. Tristan gasped, taken by the elegance of the glittering white star. He carefully took it in his hand, enraptured by how the stone felt in his palm.

“It’s gorgeous, Kyro,” he breathed. “This is...soulstone? You carved your pendant down?” His eyebrows knit together, a little melancholy over the loss of Kyro’s memento.

Noticing Tristan’s reservation, Kyro grinned and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, reaching inside. He pulled out the other half of the necklace, a circle with a matching star-shaped hole in the center. Tristan’s breath hitched as tears welled in his eyes.

“Now, no matter where we are, we’ll always be connected,” Kyro said with a sad smile.

Tristan returned the smile, a few tears escaping down the sides of his face. He handed his necklace back to Kyro, turning around and moving his hair out of the way.

“Put it on for me?”

Kyro undid the clasp on the chain and brought it around Tristan’s neck before securing it again. Tristan turned back around, looking down to admire the pendant.

“How does it look?” he grinned.

“You look beautiful,” Kyro whispered, pulling Tristan in and kissing him deeply.

Tristan ran his hands through Kyro’s dark hair, climbing onto his lap; his heart beat crazily and he struggled to draw breath. Kyro’s kisses moved down to Tristan’s jaw and then cascaded along his neck, only ceasing when he stopped to unbutton Tristan’s shirt. He traced the lines of Tristan’s delicate collarbone with his tongue, using his hands to shrug the now open shirt off his shoulders. Tristan rushed to do the same, clumsily fumbling with the rest of the buttons on Kyro’s shirt.

Kyro let out a low chuckle, finishing the job for him and tossing his shirt aside. He pressed Tristan against the wall, returning to attack his lips with fervor, hungrily tasting the inside of his mouth. Tristan’s hands explored every inch of Kyro’s upper body, lightly caressing each powerful muscle in a way he had only ever fantasized about. Eventually he made his way back to the top, entwining his fingers around the nape of his neck. Kyro groaned, touching their foreheads together. Tristan’s face heated up more than it already had when he felt Kyro hard as a rock beneath him.

“Is it alright?” he asked quietly, amber eyes bright as the moonlight gave him an ethereal glow from behind.

Tristan gave his answer by rising to his knees and unbuttoning his pants. Kyro helped him out of the tight fabric - that, although admittedly were an absolute pain to wear, looked amazing on Tristan so much that Kyro caught his eyes following behind him whenever he walked away - and laid him on his back. Tristan covered his face with his arms in embarrassment and shyly turned to face the wall, feeling like he could die from mortification. Kyro turned him back and knelt in between Tristan’s legs, gently prying his arms away to continue his shower of kisses. He traveled all the way down Tristan’s chest, stopping to tease each of the two pink points with his mouth, before leaving a burning trail down his abdomen.

When he got down to his hips, Kyro kissed his way inward before suddenly licking the entire length of Tristan’s member. Tristan shuddered from the stimulation, feeling himself harder than he had ever been before. He grabbed Kyro’s forearm, half to brace himself and half out of fear. Kyro continued to lick him, alternating between taking Tristan fully in his mouth and sucking on just the tip. Tristan jerked under him, Kyro’s touch overwhelming his senses. After a while Kyro withdrew, sitting back on his legs and watching Tristan quiver, painfully erect. He licked his lips and looked upon Tristan with savage eyes, breathing hard.

“Fuck,” he groaned, placing a quick kiss on Tristan’s knee.

Kyro leaned over to grab something hidden between the pallet and the wall, extremely glad he had thought to procure it beforehand. Tristan heard the quiet sounds of sloshing as Kyro held up a bottle that could have been filled with liquid moonlight.

“Just relax, ok?” Kyro soothed, using his free hand to stroke Tristan’s head.

Tristan nodded slightly, but couldn’t stop the panic from entering his heart. His breathing grew increasingly erratic as he watched Kyro pour a generous amount of the clear liquid into his hand. After waiting a few moments for the liquid to warm up, he moved to slowly insert a finger inside Tristan. Tristan seized up from the shock, the foreign feeling making his stomach twist uncomfortably. Kyro gently caressed along the lines of his hip as his finger worked Tristan’s insides, loosening him up enough to fit another finger in. He carefully monitored Tristan’s reactions, making sure he was alright.

Kyro continued to stretch Tristan, adding more lubricant as he went, and when Tristan seemed to be over the initial discomfort, reached over to stroke his erection at the same time. Tristan couldn’t focus on any one thing in particular, his mind gone completely blank. Kyro sped up and intensified his motions, massaging deep inside. Tristan gripped Kyro’s arm painfully, nails digging in as he grew tense and restless, emotions surging within him as he was stroked in a place that caused his vision to white out. He gasped and cried out as he climaxed, convulsing in pleasure. Kyro withdrew his fingers from inside him, satisfied with results of his preparation and drinking in the image of the wrecked and debauched prince.

He finally removed his pants, exhaling sharply as his own throbbing erection was freed. Tristan watched him with a dazed look in his eyes, barely comprehending what was about to happen next. He shakily reached out a hand to touch Kyro’s engorged member, as if captivated by it, but Kyro intercepted him and grabbed his wrist. He pulled Tristan up and into his lap, kissing his brow which had developed a thin sheen of sweat. They were lost in each other’s eyes while moving on instinct, as if their bodies knew exactly how to fit together. Tristan got on his knees and positioned himself above Kyro, letting out a deep breath before slowly lowering himself. Kyro had his hands on Tristan’s hips, supporting him as he entered the tight heat. He gasped when he was finally buried deep inside, nuzzling his face into Tristan’s neck in ecstasy. They stayed still for several moments, relishing in the contact, while Tristan got acquainted with the sensation.

“You feel so fucking good,” Kyro said breathily into Tristan’s ear, once more mouthing against his pale neck.

A couple tears rolled down Tristan’s cheeks, not from pain - although there was definitely plenty of that - but from being completely filled by Kyro, physically and emotionally. He thought that his heart would burst, unable to contain the depths of his feelings. Tristan could only moan in response, fingers threading roughly through dark hair. When he felt ready, he began to move slowly on top of Kyro. Kyro groaned in pleasure, wanting to never be apart from him. He kissed away the tears on Tristan’s face, licking the salty trails along the contours of his jaw. As Tristan’s motions started to gain momentum, Kyro bit into his neck and gripped his backside with both hands, kneading mindlessly. He could feel Tristan growing hard again against his stomach.

They rocked back and forth endlessly, shallow breathing in sync. Kyro eventually pushed Tristan down on his back, telling him to wrap his legs around his waist. He hit deep inside with every thrust, causing Tristan to gasp with each impact. Kyro rubbed his hands along the length of Tristan’s body, biting his lip in desire. Tristan had his hands above his head, looking incredibly tantalizing; his eyes were closed and he couldn’t stop himself from calling Kyro’s name. Kyro grabbed Tristan’s twitching erection, using his thumb to trace a line as he stroked it up and down. Tristan was quickly reaching his limit, unable to think straight.

“K-Kyro...I’m...g-gonna…” he begged, clawing at the cushions beneath him.

Kyro acknowledged Tristan’s request by speeding up, slamming into him with all the force of his feelings. Tristan cried out and they climaxed together, Kyro shaking as he unleashed himself inside of him. He panted, waiting for the last aftershocks to leave his body before slipping his arms under Tristan’s back. Kyro slowly lifted him up, holding him in his arms tenderly while kissing all the different planes of his face. Tristan weakly wrapped his arms around Kyro, leaning his head on his shoulder. He could barely move anymore without Kyro’s assistance.

The two finally broke apart, tired limbs a tangled mess. Kyro wiped Tristan down to the best of his ability before wrapping him up in soft blankets. Tristan had already begun to doze off, left with absolutely no energy left in his body. Kyro held him in his arms the entire night, protecting what was most precious to him even as he slept.

He woke just a few hours later, the rising sun beginning to paint the sky a soft pink. Kyro looked down at Tristan’s sleeping face, sweeping aside a few strands of hair to kiss his forehead gently. He slowly got up and lifted Tristan in his arms, still bundled up in blankets, and carried him out of the tower. Kyro carefully laid him in his bed, tucking the sheets around him. He knew Tristan would have to wake soon to begin preparing for the long day of ceremonies, but wanted to let him sleep for as long as possible first. Kyro was worried about Tristan’s body and decided to go bother the castle apothecary for some medicine, as well as grab breakfast for them to eat. He quickly washed up and threw on his most comfortable clothes, knowing that he would have to spend the rest of the day in his least comfortable attire for all the formal rites and ceremonies.

The apothecary was not happy in the least to have been woken up so early, but immediately prepared a salve for the crown prince. After receiving the small jar, Kyro thanked him and headed down to the kitchens which were by contrast, full of cooks and servants wide awake and rushing about. Kyro spotted Piri running by and drew her into a one-armed hug, nearly causing her to drop the tray of fresh fruit she was carrying.

“Kyro!” she scowled, struggling to regain her balance.

“Good morning, Piri,” he said enthusiastically, swiping a berry from her tray and popping it into his mouth.

“Look at you, all smiles,” she said with a laugh. “I take it the Crown Prince was pleased with your surprise?”

“I would think so,” he smirked and gave her a wink. “Your suggestions were extremely helpful, thank you.”

Piri grinned, glad that her friend was in such high spirits.

“I’ll see you later at the coronation, then,” Kyro said while preparing a tray of food to take upstairs. He waved goodbye and ran back up to Tristan’s room to find him still sound asleep. Kyro placed the food and salve on one of the bedside tables before going over to the writing desk to scribble a note.  _ I must have been the god of love in my past life _ , he thought smugly. Kyro slipped it under the jar of medicine and went back into his room to wait for Tristan to wake up, eager to watch his reaction from afar when he read the note.

A knock at his door snapped him out of his daydream, and Kyro was surprised to see two unfamiliar soldiers waiting for him. The insignia on their armor meant they were from Darius’s personal guard; he had been starting to see more and more of them around the castle as of late.

“The Regent has summoned you,” one of them said.

Kyro frowned, not wanting to be within ten feet of Darius, but had no choice but to follow them to the regal study. He wondered what unpleasant motives Darius had for calling him, as the two had never actually met one on one before. Kyro was corralled by several more guards into the stately office, recalling it vividly from when he had snuck in to look for the missing page.

“Kyro,” Darius said with a sinister smile.

“Your Highness,” Kyro said flatly. He looked straight at Darius without inclining his head, not bothering to mask his displeasure as hatred clawed its way up his throat.

“You are...quite the anomaly,” he began. “I was impressed with your performance at the King’s Tourney. I never expected such martial prowess from my nephew’s...whore.”

Kyro flinched, a split second away from lunging across the desk to strangle Darius.

“Yes, my tedious nephew is quite taken with you, hm?” he mused. “But now, that just won’t do.” Darius shook his head, almost as if he was pitying him. “You see, it’s high time you left Lorelai. For Tristan’s own good, of course. So what you will do is write a letter, saying how you missed home so much you hopped on a horse and ran off.”

“And if I don’t?” Kyro gritted his teeth, fury condensing in the pit of his stomach like a black hole that sucked all the positive emotions from him.

“Well, let’s just say there won’t be a Rien to return to, even if you wanted.”

“You bastard!” he spat, baring his teeth in a snarl.

Darius laughed darkly, pushing a blank sheet of paper and an ink pen toward him. Kyro balled his fists at his side, cutting bloody half moons into his palms. He seriously debated killing Darius right then and there, but knowing his insidious nature, couldn’t be sure he didn’t set up a fail-safe order to destroy Rien anyway if anything were to happen to him. After a long time of contemplation, Kyro picked up the pen and began to write. He wrote slowly and a bit sloppily, making sure to misspell a couple words here and there. The most important part, however, was that he swapped a few Tierian words for ones with different meanings in Rien. Once he had finished, he spun the paper around and threw the pen on the desk. Darius picked up the letter and read through it, a sneer forming on his face.

“I expected nothing less from an illiterate savage like yourself, but I suppose it will do,” he jeered.

Kyro glared at him viciously, exhaling sharply through his nose. Darius smiled malevolently and leaned back in his chair looking quite satisfied with himself, making a waving motion with his hand. The guards around Kyro immediately grabbed him and locked a pair of thick metal shackles around his wrists.

“Hey-what are you doing!” he grunted, trying to throw the guards off him.

“Take him away,” Darius ordered.

Those were the last words Kyro heard before his vision blacked out, knocked unconscious with a heavy strike to the back of his head.


	19. Chapter 19

Tristan woke slowly, groaning from the pain as his body ached in protest when he tried to sit up. He was alone in his own bed, pale sunlight streaming into the quiet room. Tristan looked around as he rubbed his eyes, feeling a bit lonely when he didn’t see Kyro. However, a smile appeared on his face when he saw the things Kyro had left for him. He picked up the note first, reading it carefully. His heart grew warm as he read Kyro’s reminder for him to wash thoroughly and apply the salve, but his face flooded with heat over the next few lines that outlined in shocking detail all the inappropriate things Kyro planned to do to him that night. The note concluded quite sweetly, with Kyro giving him words of encouragement to get through the day and ended with an unfamiliar word. Tristan pushed it to the back of his mind, making a mental note to ask Kyro about it later.

He took his time in the bathroom, gingerly cleaning himself and administering a generous amount of the salve. Once he was refreshed and presentable, Tristan quickly ate some of the food and left to check on the coronation proceedings, hoping he would run into Kyro on the way. The main ceremony, when he would officially be crowned, was to occur at midday. It would be held in the castle’s great hall with the full Grand Council acting as officiants, only open to the highest echelon of the kingdom’s citizens. Afterward, Tristan would move to the castle gates where he would deliver a commencement speech to mark the start of his reign. Despite the weather, travelers had been slowly congregating in Lorelai, hailing from all corners of Tieria, to witness the new king’s ascension. The rest of the day would be spent in celebration, a grand banquet being thrown in Tristan’s honor. Not a single person in the city would miss the opportunity to take the day off and enjoy the festivities.

***

Deep underground, Kyro finally blinked his eyes open, head spinning. His surroundings were dark and musty, the only light coming from a dim lantern on the wall. The cell he sat in was constructed of hard stone and completely empty except for him, not even a loose piece of gravel remained on the ground. The wall in front of him was made of tightly latticed metal bars, preventing even his fist from being able to pass through. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed the bars in between his fingers, shaking furiously, but the metal was solid and did not budge. Kyro kicked and strained against them, yelling in rage and frustration. He stopped when the sound of footsteps came down the hall.

“How do you like your new home?”

Darius stood in front of the cell, flanked by two guards. He was wearing elegant robes of maroon and gold, ready to appear at the coronation.

“Let me out of here!” Kyro shouted, banging his fists against the bars.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said coldly. “We’re currently in the depths of the royal catacombs, far beneath the castle. You will never see the light of day again for this will be your final resting place. For vermin like you, it’s an honor, really.”

“Tristan will find me,” Kyro said with confidence, eyes narrowed to daggers.

“Hm, I wonder if he can find someone that he can’t see or hear?” Darius mused.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked, expression dark.

“I had to go to great lengths to set this up, but I think you’ll find the results quite remarkable.” A cruel smile appeared on Darius’s face as he lifted his hand, pointing to a plain silver ring he wore on one finger. “Without this ring, when I look at you all I would see is an empty cell. I wouldn’t even be able to hear or sense you in any way possible. You see, I found a very talented aura user to weave a barrier that hides all traces of any living things. My idiotic nephew could run past you a million times and never know you were standing right there.”

“You’re lying!” Kyro seethed, but after focusing his senses, he could sense a paper-thin wall shimmering on the other side of the cell bars. At first glance it looked extremely delicate, so thin that it was barely visible to him, but the individual strands of aura were woven so tightly and densely together he immediately knew he wouldn’t be able to tear through it easily. Darius laughed menacingly, reveling in Kyro’s despairing situation.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be found eventually,” he said. “Well, your skeleton, that is.”

He left Kyro screaming and cursing him, looking forward to what delights the day’s main attraction would hold.

***

Tristan paced nervously in his room, biting his lip. He was dressed in an immaculate navy suit adorned with gold trimmings and fastenings. On his hip hung a decorative longsword, the weight foreign and off putting. A heavy red cape with thick fur trim lay abandoned on his bed along with his golden crown.  _ Where is he? _ Anxiety filled his heart, for no one had seen Kyro all morning after he was spotted in the kitchens. Tristan had charged Cytus with inquiring as to his whereabouts while he finished getting ready. The coronation was to start soon, and Kyro’s outfit for the event still hung untouched in his closet. He jumped when he heard a knock at his door.

“Come in!” he said brusquely.

Cytus slowly entered the room, a look of consternation on his old face.

" What is it, Cytus?” Tristan rushed to his side. “Have you found him?” His eyes were misty with concern, a gut-wrenching feeling in his stomach.

“Your Highness,” Cytus said softly. “This...was found in the stables.” He offered the letter to Tristan, watching the youth grab it and read through it.

Tristan couldn’t breathe, his world began to spin and he thought he would pass out. He knew the surface level meaning of the letter was trash, immediately understanding Kyro’s true message. Kyro had hidden a few Rien words throughout the letter, namely ‘lies,’ ‘uncle,’ ‘help,’ and the same mysterious character from his earlier note. Darius had taken Kyro somewhere, no doubt locking him up as he was wont to do with things he wanted to keep hidden. Tristan shook with rage, crumpling the letter in his fist.

“Your Highness…” Cytus was worried about Tristan’s mental state, he figured Kyro leaving so abruptly was the first step toward disaster. “The coronation?” he asked quietly.

“We will continue as planned,” Tristan said sharply. He threw his cloak around his shoulders and set the crown atop his head before sweeping out of the room. He  _ would  _ become the next king of Tieria. And his first command would be to tear the entire castle apart brick by brick if that’s what it took to find Kyro, if he didn’t rip Darius apart, first.

Down in the great hall, people milled about in anticipation. It was exquisitely decorated and full of lavishly dressed nobles and esteemed military personnel, all waiting expectantly. The back of the hall was arranged with a raised dais, the brightly polished throne reserved for the king of Tieria situated in the center. Off to the side was a table holding three gilded objects: a set of balance scales, a ceremonial scepter, and a bejeweled crown. In the private corridors behind the great hall, the councilmen and members of the royal guard stood anxiously, waiting for the event to start. Frey looked about impassively, keeping to himself but still on high alert. Darius appeared through a set of stairs leading up from the lower levels before speaking impatiently.

“Where’s my nephew?” he barked.

“Here.”

Tristan came around the corner with a hard glint in his eyes, mouth a thin line.

" Go ahead and begin the proceedings,” Tristan ordered.

The councilmen bowed toward Tristan before entering into the great hall while Darius gave him a pointed look, following them out. As the attending guards were the last to trail behind, Tristan grabbed the crook of Frey’s arm and pulled him aside.

“What’s wrong?” Frey asked immediately, picking up on Tristan’s distress and panic.

“Frey,” Tristan cried, fighting back tears. “Darius has Kyro - he took him, and I don’t know where.” He clung to Frey’s jacket, mere moments away from breaking down completely. He was always unreserved about his emotions around Frey, and being within his comfort caused Tristan to lose the composure he had been so desperately trying to hold onto.

“I’ll find him,” Frey said quietly, hugging Tristan tightly and stroking his head. “Just focus on getting through the ceremony and he’ll be back before you know it.”

Tristan nodded weakly, trying to control his shaking breaths. He pulled away from Frey and wiped his face on his sleeve, swallowing hard. Frey began to concentrate, preparing to materialize his double, when Tristan grabbed his hands suddenly.

“Wait,” he said. Tristan closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to summon as much of his own aura as he could. His eyebrows knit together as he pushed a giant wave of it toward Frey, letting it envelop him. Frey’s eyes widened in surprise as he felt an unknown power surge through him, warm and strong. Tristan released their hands and gave him a nod. Frey tried again and was shocked to find he could create not just one, but three copies. He looked at Tristan in amazement before they immediately dispersed in different directions - one to search the interior of the castle, one to check the outside grounds, one to search the city, and the last to remain and escort Tristan into the great hall. When Tristan could finally hear himself being introduced inside the throne room, he cleared his mind and entered, Frey by his side.

The ceremony was long and tedious, primarily recitations of Tieria’s history and dry readings from passages pertaining to the monarchy and its duty to the kingdom. Tristan had to remain kneeling before the throne in front of the congregation for the majority of it, although he had the small blessing of a cushion beneath him. The second part of the rites involved many oaths and promises for Tristan to uphold as the future king. He had long since had these words ingrained within him, speaking them with the utmost truth and sincerity. When it finally came time to bestow Tristan with the highest title in the land, the great hall was completely silent. The current chief of the Grand Council, a wizened but fierce looking man, approached the table and picked up the balance scales.

“By accepting these scales, Tristan Crane, Crown Prince of Tieria, agrees to rule with justice and integrity, upholding and preserving the honor of our kingdom.”

Tristan took the golden scales in his left hand.

“By accepting this scepter, Tristan Crane, Crown Prince of Tieria, agrees to be a leader unmatched, commanding with the strength and resolution of one who is looked to by all others.”

Tristan gripped the scepter tightly, his palms damp with sweat. He felt his prince’s crown lifted off his head, to be shortly replaced by an even heavier one.

“By accepting this crown, Tristan Crane, Crown Prince of Tieria, agrees to carry the weight of his people, never forgetting the lives of those he promises to protect.”

The Chief Councilman held the crown aloft above Tristan as he spoke, slowly bringing it down and placing it upon his head. He stepped back and addressed the crowd.

“We witness today the rising of one who is no longer our Crown Prince, but the King of Tieria!”

As Tristan began to stand, his knees stiff and aching, a loud voice shouted from the back of the hall.

“Death to the murderer king, Rien will have her vengeance!”

E veryone’s eyes were wide in horror as the doors to the great hall burst open and a host of armed warriors stormed in. The castle guards moved to protect their king as all hell broke loose.

***

Kyro grunted in frustration, throwing his aura against the barrier again and again. He tried to narrow it to a needle-like thinness, hoping to snag and unravel the fabric of the wall, but he was unable to catch the fine threads it was composed of. He let out a pained scream, running both hands through his hair in exasperation. Just as he was about to resume physically assaulting the cell door, his heart skipped in his chest. Kyro felt two familiar auras heading toward him.

“Tristan! Frey!” he called excitedly, but paused when he heard only one set of footsteps.

Frey had exhausted all the main locations he could think of in the castle when he remembered where Darius had come from: downstairs. The lower levels of the castle were primarily large storage rooms, but there were some paths that led even deeper, to the royal tomb. He backtracked to the stairwell behind the great hall and quickly descended, the temperature growing cooler with every step. Few people ever went down into the city’s catacombs, especially since the last royals to pass away were interred over a decade ago, so the air remained stale and undisturbed. His steps kicked up small clouds of dust as he hurried through the maze-like chambers, looking for anything out of place.

His eyes caught several sets of fresh footprints heading down one more level, following them with narrowed eyes. Frey ended up in a dark stone hallway with rows of cells lining one side of the wall. The footsteps went several rooms deep, then stopped. Frey looked around expectantly, but found nothing.  _ They must have moved him elsewhere, _ he thought darkly, fearing the worst.

“Frey!” Kyro shouted, slamming his entire body against the cell door. “Get me out of here!”

No matter how much noise or commotion he made, Frey continued to look right through him as if he were made of nothing. Kyro began to despair, wondering if he was doomed to be stuck there forever, when he remembered that he had felt Tristan as well. He closed his eyes, surprised to see Frey nearly smothered in Tristan’s aura. His heart began to pound and his mind raced, springing into action. Before Frey turned to leave, Kyro pulled with all his might on Tristan’s aura, carefully coaxing it to detach itself from Frey and float through the barrier. He sighed in relief as he felt the warmth rush into him, feeling his own aura growing in power.

Frey suddenly drew his sword in alarm, taking a defensive pose and looking around warily. His copies had forcibly been retracted back into one body due to an abrupt drop in his aura’s strength, immediately losing connection with the other locations. He was most concerned about having lost his eyes on the coronation, which was finally heading toward its conclusion.

Kyro worked quickly, concentrating on his newly bolstered aura and forming it into a sharp blade. He willed it to be razor thin, as if it could leave a scar through the air itself once swung. After straining in focus for several moments, he took a deep breath and put all his force behind one powerful swing. He grunted as he felt contact with the barrier but held his ground, pushing forward with enough momentum to cut from one end to the other. The barrier fell, strands of silvery aura slowly dissipating into the air. Kyro collapsed onto the ground, panting from the effort.

“Kyro!” Frey said in surprise, blinking at his sudden appearance on the ground of the prison cell.

“Y-you can see me?” Kyro said, breathing heavily.

“Yes, but why couldn’t I see you before?”

“Darius had someone put up a barrier, I couldn’t break it on my own.” He sat up, wiping a thin layer of sweat from his forehead. “But you brought Tristan’s aura along with you, and it helped cut it down. You don’t happen to have a key for this door, would you?”

A puzzled look appeared on Frey’s face for a split second before he connected the facts inside his head. Then he shook his head in response.

“Stand back.”

Kyro barely had time to scoot himself to the side before Frey slammed the pommel of his sword into the cell door’s lock. He hit it several times until the metal creaked, caving inward. With the bolt bent, he raised his leg and gave a powerful kick. After a few precise strikes with his heel, a loud crack sounded as the door swung open. Kyro grinned and scrambled to his feet, eager to be free.

“Thanks Frey, I owe you one-” Kyro stopped mid-sentence, a low growl forming in his throat. “What’s the fastest way to the throne room?” he said quickly, feeling the unease in the pit of his stomach.  _ Of course Darius would try to make his move during the coronation! _

“Follow me,” Frey said, immediately turning to run back up through the catacombs. Kyro’s reaction surely meant something had happened at the coronation and that Tristan was in danger. For once his face was not devoid of emotion, anger flaring in his eyes and the corners of his lips turned downward. He would never forgive himself if something happened to Tristan when he wasn’t there to protect him.

Luckily, their journey was not long and soon they were back in the castle hallways. Alarming shouts and screams could be heard coming from the great hall, causing them both to rush forward through the back entrance. The room was in absolute chaos, fighting happening in every corner while scared citizens tried to run or were corralled against the walls. Several guards saw them appear and grew relieved at Frey’s presence, feeling like the battle could now be won. Kyro blindly sorted through the mass of auras until he could locate Tristan’s. Tristan and several guards around him were fighting against the onslaught of masked attackers, tight cloth wrapped around their faces to obscure their identities. Kyro picked up the sword of a fallen guard and yelled, entering the fray.

Tristan had somehow been cut off from his uncle and the councilmen, who were stuck hiding by the dais under the protection of Darius’s personal guard as more attackers descended upon them. He fought back against his opponents to the best of his ability, striking out with the sword he had brought with him, although his attacks were clumsy and unpracticed with a longsword compared to with a saber. Two warriors appeared in front of him, breaking through the line of castle guards that had surrounded him. Tristan dodged their simultaneous attacks, his body attuned to the movement and flow of Rien sabers, having trained under Kyro for so long. With a grunt, he swung his sword downward close to the hilt of one of his attackers’ weapons, the force causing the other to drop his saber. Tristan dashed closer and pushed upward with all his strength, elbowing the man in the chin. As he crumpled to the ground, unconscious, one of his guards stabbed the other through from the back. Tierian and Rien blood soaked into the carpet, the body count on each side slowly beginning to grow.

Kyro ducked under a swing from one of the regent’s guards, unsurprised that Darius had commanded them to kill him on sight. More and more of Darius’s men had taken notice of Kyro’s appearance and began to divert their efforts to taking him down. Trying to analyze the chaos of the throne room, Kyro was maddened to see that they were not only remaining on the fringes of the battle, but were also actively avoiding preventing the aggressors from reaching Tristan. He fought his way across the room to where Tristan was, indiscriminately dispatching anyone who stood in his way, while Frey carved his own path through the bodies. Kyro finally broke through the confusion, nearly crashing into Tristan.

“Kyro!” Tristan exclaimed, relief surging through him despite the carnage surrounding them.

“What’s going on?” Kyro asked, embracing Tristan tightly.

“It’s-it’s Rien, your people are trying to kill me!”

Kyro froze, finally stopping to take a good look around him. As more people were cut down or left in disarray from the fighting, their identities slowly rose to the surface. The warriors from Rien had disguised themselves in Tierian clothing to blend in with the crowd attending the coronation, only covering their faces before the fighting broke out. All around him, Kyro could see people who looked like him, who fought like him. He saw the faces of those he had grown up with and hadn’t seen in almost a year, belatedly identifying auras he thought he would never feel again. People who thought he was dead, wrongfully murdered, and were giving up their lives in exchange for revenge. His heart bled as he realized his friends were the ones dying around him, on a suicide mission based on grief and rage. Kyro had been so focused on making sure Tristan was safe, he hadn’t paused to ascertain who the assailants were.  _ This needs to end _ , he thought. Kyro grabbed Tristan’s hand forcefully, surprising him from the sudden movement.

“Tristan, I need you to give me everything you’ve got, and even then don’t stop, okay?”

Tristan nodded grimly, focusing on creating an open channel between the two of them, diverting the flow of his aura into Kyro. Kyro felt a steady stream of energy coming from Tristan, and began to draw it into his own body. The strength he felt was several magnitudes higher than when he was in the cell, filling him up with an unimaginable pressure just waiting to burst out. When he felt like he couldn’t hold back any more, he unleashed his aura, sending it out in a forceful wave through the entire room.

“ _ Enough! _ ” he roared at the top of his lungs, bringing all the fighting to a halt.

Everyone froze, fear and confusion on their faces as they found they could not move their bodies. They turned their heads stiffly to where Kyro and Tristan stood in the center of the hall, wondering what was going on.

“Rien, your war is not with Tristan, but Darius Crane.” Kyro thrust a finger in Darius’s direction, whose face was red from anger. “He plotted the murder of the royal family - my family - and tried to take what is ours. But he will be a threat no longer, for today we will have justice!” His voice thundered, resonating to fill the hall.

“Prince...Renton?” someone said shakily, their voice full of disbelief.

“The Crown Prince?”

“He’s alive?”

Kyro’s name broke out among the Rien warriors, some starting to shed tears when they saw him standing before them. Tristan flinched when Kyro leaned over and whispered instructions in his ear, in a daze from struggling to process the sudden truth of Kyro’s identity.

“Soldiers of Tieria,” Tristan said loudly once he found his voice. “I command you to stand down. Anyone who does otherwise will be seen as an enemy of the state. Form up with General Blackwood and await further orders.”

The castle guards looked at each other, only those under Darius’s division showed some hesitation on their faces, but ultimately no one objected.

“My friends,” Kyro said. “Your fight is over. Tristan and I will arrest Darius so you may put away your weapons.” Once he spoke, he slowly released his hold over the room, everyone feeling like they no longer had an invisible hand around their throats. After a few moments of hesitant inaction, each side began to break apart and warily sheathe their swords. Frey rounded up the castle guards, keeping a particularly close eye on Darius’s men, while the people of Rien stood off to the side, those with healing abilities tending to their wounded. Darius was the only one who was still under Kyro’s hold, who no longer needed Tristan’s support to handle one person. He was stuck in a kneeling position by the throne.

“What are you doing, you useless pieces of trash!” he spat at his guards who were falling into line under Frey. He sputtered and shouted curses as Kyro and Tristan approached him, both looking extremely weary and tired of his existence.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” he sneered at Tristan. “Just as weak and pathetic as your despicable parents.”

Tristan’s face was stoic except for his eyes which were filled with endless pain and anger. He raised the sword in his hand above Darius, his uncle’s eyes suddenly filling with horror, as he swiftly brought it down and slammed the hilt into the back of his head. Darius slumped to the ground, unconscious. Tristan found Kyro’s hand waiting by his side, taking it and feeling the comforting pressure as he gave it a squeeze.

The great hall slowly came back to life, people moving about to clear away the carnage and shuttle terrified guests out of the castle. Tristan ordered Darius to be taken to the cell Kyro had been kept in - after the broken door was replaced - and the two walked over to face the group of warriors from Rien. They weren’t even a hundred to begin with, and although each was highly skilled, many with unique aura abilities, the numbers were against them. But for each Rien warrior who went down, they took two or three guards with them, many more suffering from grave injuries. Tristan immediately called for the wounded to be taken to the castle infirmary. Kyro looked at them with pained eyes as one of them rushed up and hugged him.

“Prince Renton,” a young woman cried and ran forward, wrapping her arms around him tightly.

“Tessa,” Kyro said, returning the embrace.

She stepped back after a few moments, wiping the tears from her face. The woman named Tessa was tall and lean, clearly a strong warrior, with sandy skin and dark blonde hair cropped short by her ears. Her grey eyes were full of emotion as she looked at Kyro, but her expression betrayed no weakness.

“Was this your plan?” he asked her.

“No, Advisor Gerza said he had made contacts in Lorelai who could help us sneak in during the coronation to launch an attack. He was the one who urged us to claim  _ his  _ life in revenge.” She looked at Tristan warily, still not trusting him. “Your Highness, are you sure he hasn’t done anything?”

Tristan felt utterly small and helpless standing in front of the well trained warriors, suddenly feeling extremely vulnerable and out of place.

“He has,” Kyro said, placing a hand on Tristan’s shoulder. “The most important thing of all - he saved my life.”

Tessa immediately dropped to one knee, not questioning Kyro’s words a second time.

“Thank you for saving our Crown Prince, King Tristan,” she said. “As the Commander of Rien’s warriors, I owe you a great debt.”

The rest of the warriors did the same, all kneeling before him. Tristan’s face turned red in embarrassment, uncomfortable with the attention.

“Please, there’s no need,” he mumbled. “You all must be extremely tired, I’ll have a wing of the barracks prepared for your people. You may eat and rest there for the night.”

Tessa nodded and thanked him again before standing back with her people. Kyro turned to them with a grim smile on his face before saying something that made Tristan’s heart drop into the pit of his stomach.

“Sleep well, for we return to Rien at first light.”

***

After washing themselves clean of the grime and filth from the battle, Kyro and Tristan went to speak with Darius. Tristan was quiet the entire way down, still mulling over Kyro’s words and more crucially, the secret of his identity, silently. Meanwhile, Kyro filled Tristan in on what had happened that morning, from being threatened by Darius to Frey breaking him out of the cell.

By the time they went to go see him, Darius was awake and pacing in circles. Kyro stood off to the side while Tristan confronted his uncle.

“Looking for something?” he said, holding up a hand, the silver ring Darius taunted Kyro with around his finger.

Darius lunged at the metal bars and shouted at Tristan.

“You miserable little brat! Let me out this instant!”

Tristan merely looked at his uncle with cold, detached eyes.

“Why, Uncle? Why did you have to do all this?” he asked.

“I have nothing to explain to you,” Darius spat, glaring at Tristan.

Tristan sighed deeply; even though he held no love for his uncle, he was still the last remaining family he had left. It pained him greatly to see him reduced to this, but Darius was too stubborn to ever see the error of his ways. There was nothing more Tristan could say to him.

“Would you like to speak to him?” Tristan asked Kyro.

Kyro held out his hand to Tristan as he slipped the ring onto his finger. He sauntered up to the cell casually, looking rather unperturbed.

“Hm, how do you like your new home?” he said coolly. “Personally I think it could use a bit more light, but I’m sure with time you’ll find it to be quite comfortable.” Kyro gave Darius a wicked smile, baring his teeth. “Did you know we’re in the royal catacombs? How fortunate you get to spend the rest of your days here, alone. For vermin like you, it’s an honor, really,” Kyro said emphatically.

“I’ll kill you, you filthy slut!” Darius seethed, banging against the cell door.

“No, no, this is the part where you’re supposed to passionately declare that someone will come rescue you,” Kyro paused. “Oh, but what a shame, for there’s no one who loves you.” Kyro suddenly stepped right up to the metal bars, staring into Darius’s face with a murderous expression. “You will rot down here, alone and forgotten, until your disgusting existence is finally ended. I’d love to stay and chat, but unlike you, I have a kingdom to rule.” 

Kyro gave him one final withering look before returning to Tristan’s side. He slid the ring off his finger and made like he was going to hand it over, but instead dropped it to the ground, letting it fall into a sewer grate by their feet, a dark stream of water rushing below.

“Oops,” Kyro said innocently, throwing a pointed look in Darius’s direction.

“No!” Darius screamed, kicking and punching at the metal bars with renewed desperation, begging and howling wretchedly.

Kyro calmly took Tristan’s hand, leading him out of the hall without turning back. They weren’t actually going to leave him down there, and Kyro had long since destroyed the concealment barrier. Their acting was all for show to punish Darius, and Tristan planned to move him to a normal prison cell after a couple days in isolation. But by then, the damage would have been done and Darius’s spirit would be broken.

The two finally made it back to Tristan’s room, wordlessly changing and collapsing into the bed. Neither had a drop of energy left in their body. Tristan turned on his side away from Kyro, stewing in complicated emotions. Kyro wrapped his arms around Tristan and pulled him backward into his embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“For what? Lying to me all this time? Is Kyro even really your name?” Tristan said a bit more harshly than he intended.

“I know, I should have told you sooner. And yes, it’s my middle name which only my family calls me by.” Complex sorrow swirled inside of him; when he first got to Tieria, aside from needing to hide his identity, when he heard people calling him ‘Kyro’ it was like his family was still with him. He paused before continuing softly. “And I’m sorry for going so soon.”

Tristan’s heart tightened, willing himself not to cry.

“You said you wouldn’t leave me,” he whispered.

“My people need me...everyday I stay away is another day they’re left in darkness.” Kyro flipped Tristan around, looking into his wet eyes. “I’ll come back. I promise.”

Tristan said nothing, only burying his face in Kyro’s chest. He could feel Kyro’s smooth soulstone pendant against his cheek, leaving an imprint of the eight pointed star carved in the center. Out of all the people in the world, Tristan understood. He understood, but that didn’t stop it from feeling like his heart was being ripped out.

They got only a few hours of sleep before it was time for Kyro to depart. Tristan had fresh horses, warm clothes, and ample supplies prepared for their long journey. The winter travel would be harsh, but Kyro and his people were resilient. They had survived thus far and now nothing would stop them from taking back their home. Tristan met them at the castle gates, a somber look on his face. Kyro stood by Percival, patting the black horse on its nose.

“You take good care of Kyro, Percy.” Tristan said, holding his forehead against its velvety face. Ever since Kyro had ridden Percival out to find him in the blizzard, the warhorse had grown exceptionally restless. Tristan figured it would be better to send him away with Kyro than leave him cooped up in the castle stables forever.

Kyro turned to face Tristan, holding his delicate hands with his own. They said nothing for a few moments, only looking at each other intently, as if committing the other’s every feature, down to the last eyelash, to memory. Tristan finally withdrew a gold signet ring from his pocket, putting it in Kyro’s hand.

“I’ve sent word to our men but just in case they need more convincing, take this.”

It was heavy and ornate, much too flashy for Tristan’s tastes, but more importantly, it was the symbol of the king of Tieria. Kyro nodded, carefully stowing it inside his robes. He hugged Tristan tightly, pulling him into the crook of his neck.

“If you break your promise, I’ll be forced to break mine,” Tristan warned, looking up at him with eyes full of conviction. Despite having given Kyro his word long ago that Tieria would never again set foot in Rien, if Tristan had to, he would go there himself to give Kyro a piece of his mind. Kyro laughed lightly, taking Tristan’s hand and kissing his wrist before holding it against his cheek.

“No matter how long it takes, I will always return to you,” he vowed.

Tristan sniffed, feeling his eyes start to well up as his heart constricted painfully.

“By the way, what’s that symbol you ended your letters with? I’ve never seen it before.” Tristan didn’t know why he suddenly recalled it, but felt like he had to ask, abruptly changing the subject.

Kyro’s eyebrows raised in surprise, having forgotten all about it amid the chaos. He had originally planned to explain it to Tristan under much more intimate and romantic circumstances.

“It’s an old but still popular way for people to sign things in Rien. It’s essentially the same as ‘lover’ but its full meaning is ‘one who cannot live without the other.’”

Tristan felt hot tears slowly make their way down his face, unable to respond. Kyro held Tristan’s face and gently wiped them away.

“Goodbye, Tristan,” he said before kissing him softly. Kyro turned to go, unable to stay a second longer lest he never leave Tristan’s side.

Tristan watched with blurry eyes as Kyro climbed atop Percival, signaling to the rest of the warriors. They headed out in a tight formation, kicking their horses forward. He was the last one to ride out, almost just past the gates when he heard Tristan shout from across the courtyard, three words carried on the wind. Kyro pressed Percival into a gallop, his cheeks now wet with tears as well, fighting the urge to look back.

  
_ I love you too _ , he answered in his heart.


	20. Epilogue

The first few weeks of Tristan’s reign were tumultuous, full of change associated with the drastic shift in power. His first order of business was ensuring the integrity and loyalty of those around him. Tristan conducted a full audit of the Grand Council as well as other high ranking military officers, removing those with concrete evidence proving their complicity in his uncle’s treachery. Following their arrests, he held formal trials for them all, including Darius, to administer official sentences. Most were given steep fines and years of jail time, while Darius was sentenced to life in prison. Only after clearing the castle of corrupt and power hungry officials could Tristan finally feel like no one was holding a sword to his neck, drawing blood with each breath he took.

Weeks turned into months of tirelessly working alongside his new retinue to reshape his kingdom into one he was proud to be king of, becoming accustomed to an exhausting but fulfilling routine. One of his most difficult but rewarding projects had been the restructuring of Argo’s social stratification, dismantling the economic stranglehold the aristocratic merchants had over the working class. Tristan had personally taken time to return to Argo with his advisors, bringing with them a variety of reforms to give the people of the slums proper rights. The aristocrats did not accept the changes at first, even trying to start their own rebellion, but Frey and his men easily subdued the insurgents. After trials were held for their treason and egregious mistreatment of other humans, several high ranking mercantile families were stripped of their prestige and power, with the household heads imprisoned. The other nobles quickly fell in line, albeit begrudgingly, not wanting to become the next to fall. Tristan swelled with pride as he watched Rina and the others lead renovation efforts on the slums and the migration of the once oppressed people to the upper city. He left Argo behind with hope and a brighter future, vowing to return one day with Kyro.

Although Tristan felt like he was truly making a difference in fixing Tieria’s issues, the problem of dealing with the hostile Versans still loomed on the horizon. As winter melted away, the pale green sprouts of spring would begin to appear. Frey would eventually have to return to the northwest front to hold back the advancing Versan army. Tristan lost nights of sleep over the issue, neither he nor his new councilmen able to come up with a satisfactory solution.

It was times like those when Tristan would lay in bed, tossing and turning restlessly as his mind refused to calm down. After Kyro left, Tristan had moved into the king’s quarters two levels up. The suite was even larger and more needlessly opulent; its size only further exacerbating how small and alone he felt. Tristan would often find himself opening the flat box he had moved under his new bed to look at the few objects that were the only things capable of bringing him comfort. His collection included the encyclopedia of malicious aura abilities - now with missing page reinserted - the metal container and messages they buried during the Firelight Festival, several candle stumps and dried violas from his birthday, Kyro’s note from the morning after, and even the fake letter Darius had forced him to write. He would read the letters again and again, committing every word and punctuation mark to memory. But nothing could dull the aching in his heart that was ever present.

A tapping on his balcony doors snapped Tristan out of his reverie. He instinctively grabbed the saber he kept by his bed and slowly approached the door, opening it carefully. A large hawk was perched on the balcony railing, its feathers an array of colors from dark brown to light cream. Its glowing yellow eyes spotted him and it squawked loudly, flapping its wings and gliding toward Tristan. Tristan yelped in fright and backed up suddenly, tripping over his own feet and falling to the ground. The hawk landed on his chest, pecking curiously at his clothes - or rather, what was underneath it.

After recoiling in fright for a few moments, Tristan noticed a long tube attached to its leg. He removed it and unscrewed the top, heart hammering in his chest. The moment he began to read the letter that was rolled up inside, he felt tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

_Tristan,_

_I hope this letter finds you. I mean, it would be great if it found you well or in good health, but since Rocky is a bit of a nervous flyer, I’ll settle for the bare minimum. Honestly I can’t blame him, given how delicate he is. Do you know how hard it is to find a large enough bird with an innate sensitivity to auras? And then train said bird to track a specific one? I didn’t think so._

_Anyways, I miss you. A lot. More than you could possibly imagine. More than I could have ever imagined. But we’re doing good here, I hope things are going well for you too. Turns out, that bastard Gerza had schemed for months with your uncle to betray his own people, all for a small promotion. And! He was the one who manipulated my warriors into thinking it was all your fault, using his connections with Darius to facilitate their attack. His end wasn’t pretty, there was lots of blood. I’m sure you would have loved it. Speaking of, give my regards to Darius, will you? And by regards I mean a swift kick in the face._

_Well, I can’t make this too long but try to write back. Let Rocky bite your pendant, then you should probably feed him or else he’ll try to bite you. But after he’s been fed and you’ve resealed the tube, throw him out of the window. I’m serious, grab him around the wings and toss him, hard. He might come back to you a couple times but just keep doing it. Maybe he’ll return to me eventually. I love you, Tristan. Or random person who found this letter instead._

_The One Who Can’t Live Without You_

_(Who is now also a king, just thought that was worth mentioning.)_

Tristan read the letter several times, crying in earnest. His darkest days following his coronation were when the host of soldiers who had been occupying Rien finally completed the long journey back to Tieria. Due to the weather it had taken an extra week for them to make it through, and even then not all of them survived the trip. Tristan had the smallest glimmer of hope that maybe Kyro would have come with them, although he knew it was more unlikely than his parents rising from the dead, but even then he wasn’t prepared to only receive his signet ring back. No letter or anything else. Tristan tormented himself with the fear that Kyro never planned to be with him at all, and now that he had his kingdom back wanted nothing more to do with him. The only way he was able to push his depression to the side was by throwing himself into work and telling himself that wasn’t the case, making any excuses he could think of. He was once again lying to himself, but under the deep desire that one day his lies would become the truth.

Once he had calmed down and was able to relax, relief settling within him for the first time since Kyro had left, Tristan followed his instructions and watched as Rocky flew off into the night. He was certain that Rocky would make it back to Kyro, for there were no longer any doubts in his heart - nothing gave him more confidence than the feeling of being loved.

Over the next few months they were able to exchange a few letters in between Tristan’s impasse with the Versans. Rocky could make the trip between Tieria and Rien in about a week, which was a huge step up from the minimum of two full weeks it took someone on foot, let alone the dangers involved. However, he would refuse to fly for great lengths of time after making multiple trips, needing time to rest and recuperate. Kyro filled him in on how the restoration of Rien was going, when he was finally able to give his family a proper funeral ceremony, and about his own coronation. Things seemed just as busy over there, with the people of Rien fighting to reclaim their old lives and put the trauma they had suffered behind them. 

Tristan did cave in to his petty ire about why Kyro hadn’t sent any kind of message to him with the returning Tierian soldiers, to which Kyro responded that he did, with the ring. Tristan shuffled through the messy drawers of his desk, Darius’s old study now belonging to him, looking for the signet ring. He had angrily tossed it out of sight shortly thereafter since looking at it only made him more upset. After getting a few paper cuts from loose documents he refused to file properly, he felt the cool metal and withdrew it, holding it up in the light. On the inside of the band, directly opposite the Tierian royal crest, Kyro had carved a small eight-pointed star - the very same one Tristan wore around his neck. He unconsciously broke out into a smile, heart overflowing with warmth, then promptly forced a scowl on his face after catching himself. When he was able to see Kyro again in person, he vowed to give him an earful for not sending a proper letter, as well as for defacing a priceless Tierian heirloom.

By midsummer, Tristan had given up on the hope that the Versans would agree to forget his uncle’s transgression. The hostility between the two countries needed to come to an end, and Tristan was willing to make amends to protect the lives of his people who would undoubtedly suffer the most if an actual war broke out. He agreed to surrender a large portion of the northwest border to Versal, for most of it was rocky, arid land anyway that his uncle only greedily wanted to hold onto for the sake of retaining the kingdom’s massive borders, as long as the Versans agreed to maintain peace between the two countries moving forward.

With the largest pressing conflict finally no longer a threat, the rest of the year passed in the blink of an eye. Although Tristan still sorely missed Kyro, feeling especially melancholy during the Firelight Festival, at least he had new letters to look forward to every now and then. It wasn’t until the following spring that Kyro informed him of a huge project Rien had begun to undertake. Through extensive and careful planning, Kyro had decided to carve a more traversable path through the mountains, opening up Rien to the rest of the world. It would still be a long and arduous journey, but the hope was to establish a trade town right outside the entrance to the mountain pass to help merchants buy, sell, and transport goods more easily. Tristan’s heart soared with the thought of finally being able to see Kyro again, quickly pledging aid and assistance with the construction of the town. They decided it would be settled by people from Rien and Tieria alike, in harmony.

While Tristan understood such an immense and complex operation would take time, he didn’t think it would take as long as it was shaping up to. They were close to the completion of the mountain pass and the development of the town was moving along nicely, but before he knew it, the winter solstice had already come and gone. Tristan had been king for two years. An indescribably lonely stretch of time, which would probably grow even longer due to weather conditions halting the last bits of progress needed to wrap up the project. Tristan felt like for the past two years he had been operating without an integral part of him, only fleetingly feeling like himself again whenever he received a letter from Kyro. It was as if he had gone back to the solitary days before the two had met.

He had long since reimplemented the old public hearing sessions - deeply understanding the need for all his people’s voices to be heard - and easing the volume of individuals looking for an audience by increasing the regularity of the event. They were still incredibly dull for the most part, but Tristan appreciated interfacing with his citizens who were brave enough to go directly to him for help. However, much to his annoyance, lately many of the conversations he had been having were with nobles bold enough to offer their daughters up to him in marriage. Not only did he have no interest, but their actions left a bad taste in his mouth.

Tristan slumped irritably in his throne, scribbling randomly on the pad of paper he kept on a small table beside him for when he wanted to take actual notes. _If I have to turn away_ one _more marriage proposal_ , he seethed, almost putting enough pressure on the pen to snap it. He didn’t look up and barely registered hearing the wooden doors open again when the next petitioner was allowed inside. A hush fell over the hall, something - or someone - obviously causing the attendants and other officials present to react oddly. The announcer whispered with the newcomer, then shakily cleared his throat to introduce them.

“His Royal Majesty, King Renton Ashai of Rien, has come to seek an audience with the King.”

Tristan froze, breath stuck in his throat, unsure if he was missing Kyro so much that he had begun to have auditory hallucinations. His eyes remained in a downcast position as the person’s steps drew closer and closer. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for disappointment as he slowly raised his head. Kyro stood before him bearing a cocky smile, having somehow grown even more handsome in the past two years. He looked the same but more mature, the strong angles of his face giving him a dignified and regal air. Kyro wore loose robes of thick fabric over a tighter inner layer, fending off the winter chill. A heavy cloak with colorful embroidery hung on his shoulders, still damp from melted snow. Tristan jumped up out of the throne with such force he sent the side table flying, practically throwing himself into Kyro’s arms.

“Kyro!” he exclaimed, overcome with too many emotions at once. First happy, then confused, then angry. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” he scolded.

Kyro laughed deeply, squeezing him tightly and burying his face in Tristan’s hair. He took a deep breath and sighed contentedly. _Still just as sweet_ , he thought.

“I thought you like being surprised on your birthday?” He winked and flashed Tristan a cheeky grin, earning him a scowl and a kick in the shins, which he quickly dodged.

“You’re a bit late for that,” he snorted. “But I’m serious, Kyro. Next time you really should tell me these things in advance. I would have cleared my schedule for you, or even prepared a banquet, just to give you an opportunity to wear Tierian formal wear again, for old times’ sake.” Tristan grinned, enjoying seeing the color drain from Kyro’s face.

Kyro coughed uncomfortably, suddenly looking a bit conflicted over the thought.

“So, why did you decide to show up out of the blue?” Tristan asked.

“Didn’t you hear what that guy said? I’m here for an audience with the oh-so-ravishing King of Tieria.” Another kick, this one finding its mark. “Ow,” he winced before continuing, “Don’t tell me you forgot about the King’s Tourney. You owe me a request, and now that you’re king, I’m here to collect on it.”

Tristan looked at him quizzically, wondering what kind of ridiculous thoughts were going through Kyro’s mind. He shook his head in exasperation, a small smile on his face.

“Of course not,” he said, looking up at him with bright eyes. “What is it that you want?”

Kyro need only ask, and Tristan would give up anything for him. He stepped closer to Tristan, grabbing both his hands and looking directly into his eyes, their foreheads almost touching. Their eyes only reflected each other, liquid gold to blushing violet. Tristan’s breathing hitched, lost in the intense gaze, when Kyro finally spoke again.

“I want to be your everything, Tristan.”

Kyro suddenly knelt down on one knee, looking up at him with a serious expression.

“Marry me.”

It took Tristan a moment to recover from the shock before he nodded, unable to speak as tears fell down his face. Kyro stood up and tenderly brought their lips together, the force of their feelings and years of longing crashing into each other as their auras entwined. Both had lost so much, leaving them hurt and scared, but had so much to gain from opening their hearts to one another. Connected through the depths of their souls, together they were finally whole.


End file.
